OLD 



HUMPHREY'S 



ADDRESSES. 



BY THE AUTHOR OF " OLD HUMPHREY'S OBSERVATIONS. 



Temptations luring wiles beware, 
And 'mid ten thousand mercies given, 
Walk humbly through this world of care, 
And keep your eyes and hearts on heaven- 



NEW YORK: 

ROBERT CARTER, 58 CANAL STREET. 
LONDON : 

THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETT. 

1842. 



t^ 



PI? 50i f 












CONTENTS. 

Page. 

On Sanctified Sorrow 7 

On a Comfortable home ib. 

On the Character of the British Sailor 10 

Plain and Pithy Remarks 13 

Close Questioning ib. 

On Toppers 15 

On Riches 18 

On Gin-drinking 20 

To the Members of a Temperance Society 24 

On Sleep 28 

On Selfishness 30 

On Coal 35 

On Capital; or, Plenty more in the Cellar 39 

A Word of encouragement to a Christian 42 

The Old Tree 44 

On Blankets 48 

On Good Living 52 

Story of a Smoky Chimney 53 

A Suitable Text 58 

To the Reader ib. 

On Begging, Borrowing, and Stealing 64 

On Occupation , 66 

On Time 70 

On Fair Weather Christians 72 

Cheer up ! Pilgrim 74 

To a Bereaved Friend 75 

On Christmas Time 80 

A Warning 87 

On Presents 88 

On Humility 92 



IV CONTENTS. 

Page. 

The Fire-side 94 

On Infidels 101 

On Quack Doctors 103 

On Sunshine 108 

On Somebody and Nobody Ill 

On Morning Walks 115 

Whose Servant will you be ? 117 

To One coming suddenly into Possession of Property 120 

On Shoes 125 

On the Day's Sorrow 131 

Who can bear to be told of his Faults? 136 

An Address to a New-Married Couple : 143 

My Mother 149 

On Aiding the Missionary Cause 153 

No Quackery 157 

On Mountebanks 163 

On Visiting 166 

Perhaps you will think of it 169 

On Idleness 1 73 

Lines in the Album of a Seeker after Truth 175 

On the Duty of making a Will 179 

On Insanity 190 

On Heart Searching 195 

On Life Insurance 202 

On Using and not Abusing the Things of the World 210 

On Attending the Sick 215 

Advice to be pondered in Health, and Practised in Sickness 221 

On War 225 

Sketch in a Retired Lane 236 

On Flower Seeds 240 

Who is Old Humphrey ? 247 



INTRODUCTION. 



It may, reader, savour of vanity in me to sup- 
pose, that my poor Addresses will effect any bene- 
ficial purpose. A stump of a pen in the infirm 
hand of an old man, is, to appearance, but a sorry 
source of advice and comfort ; and yet, before 
now, such a thing has been made mighty in re- 
proof and in consolation, in strengthening weak 
hands, and in confirming feeble knees. 

When we consider what important purposes 
have been frequently brought about by weak in- 
struments, it is enough to encourage us in every 
well-meant endeavour to be useful. A mite is 
but a small sum, yet when freely given by the 
poor, it has been reckoned of greater value than 
the largest amount cast into the treasury. A 
sling in the hand of a stripling shepherd is but a 
poor weapon of warfare, but when God strength- 
ens the arm that wields it, an embattled, mail-clad 
giant may be therewith felled to the ground. 

You see by what kind of reasoning it is, that I 
encourage myself to lay my Addresses before 



Vi INTRODUCTION. 

you. Try to read them in the same spirit with 
which they have been written. 

O that I could pour balm into every wound, 
and comfort every sorrowful breast ! ]My prayer 
is, that God in mercy may open every blind eye, 
unstop every deaf ear, subdue every hard, unbe- 
lieving heart, scatter with a flood of heavenly 
light every cloud of unbelief and doubt, and 
spread, widely through this jarring world the 
soothing influence of the gospel of peace ! Oh 
that all nations, kindred, and tongues, would look 
up as different branches of one great family to 
their heavenly Father, seeking, next to his glory, 
each other's welfare, and desiring to promote 
each other's peace ! Now enter on the addresses 

of 

Your friend, 

Old Humphrey. 



OLD HUMPHREY'S 

ADDRESSES. 



ON 



SANCTIFIED SORROW. 

€oME listen to an old man, and let him catechise you. 
I do not ask if your heart be well bound up, but whether 
it be well bruised and broken ? I. do not ask if you 
have rejoiced for righteousness, but whether you have 
sorrowed for sin ? for sure I am, that hearts well bro- 
ken by God's holy law, are the easiest bound up by 
the gospel of Jesus Christ ; and that those who have 
in their souls a godly sorrow for sin, are not far from 
bursting out into a song of thanksgiving : " Come, and 
let us return unto the Lord : for he hath torn, and he 
will heal us ; he hath smitten, and he will bind us up," 
Hos. vi. 1. 



ON 

A COMFORTABLE HOME. 

1 AM not going to fire a shot from a distance, that may 
never reach you ; I am not about to draw a bow at a 



8 A COMFORTABLE HOME. 

venture, where the arrow may miss its mark ; but, on 
the contrary, to come to close quarters, to grappel with 
you at your own door, and to enter, like a strong man 
armed, into your habitation. 

What sort of a home have you ? What sort of a 
home have you ? You may think this an odd sort of 
a question, but I will repeat it : What sort of a home 
have you ? If it be comfortable, may it ever remain 
so ; and if it be far otherwise, willingly would I tell 
you how to make it comfortable. It is a miserable 
thing to have a comfortless home. It is bad for the 
husband, bad for the wife and bad for the children. 
Where the hasty heart, the angry eye, and the clam- 
erous tongue, wage war together, peace is banished 
from that habitation. 



Oh sweeter far in peace to live, 
Each other's failings to forgive, 

Each other's burdens bear ! 
For lasting love alone can bless, 
Content alone give happiness 

In this wide world of care. 



Oh the misery of an unwashed, unswept, tireless 
house, with a drunken husband, and a dirty, untidy 
scold of a wife at the head of it ! Fine bringing up of 
children in such a habitation I Homes there are of 
this kind, in abundance, but what sort of a home have 
you got? Is God acknowledged there? Is he feared, 
loved, obeyed, worshipped, and praised 1 For there 
is a peace and glory around the poorest cottage, where 
God is worshipped, not to be found in the palaces where 
his name is not known. If God be in your habitation, 



A COMFORTABLE HOME. 



in all your wants you are not forsaken ; and if he be 
not there, amid all your comforts you are far from hap- 
py. If your home be a wretched one, think not to 
mend it by merely scrubbing the floors, and rubbing 
the chairs and tables ; by mending your clothes, wash- 
ing your children, and by keeping away from the pawn 
and gin shops. These things must all be done, but 
something else must be done first. You must begin 
at the right end. The presence of God is first want- 
ed among you, and then you will go on improving, till 
the most wretched home becomes one of a different 
description. You may be puzzled, perhaps, and not 
know how to manage matters, you may be driven even 
to your wit's end, but, for all that, if you begin well, 
Tou need not despair. " Trust in the Lord with all 
thine heart, and lean not unto thine own understand- 
ing. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall 
direct thy paths," Prov. iii. 5, 6. If, then, you wiint 
a comfortable home, bend down on your knees, at 
once, and pour forth your prayer to the Father of 
mercies, in the all-prevailing name of his well-beloved 
Son, that he may remov'-e or sanctify your troubles, 
making your crooked paths straight, and your rough 
places plain. Where the presence of God is fully felt 
and enjoyed in a family, the wife will be ashamed of 
having a dirty, neglected, miserable habitation ; the 
husband will be afraid to be found wasting his time 
and his wages in drunkenness and iniquity ; and their 
children will be taught to remember their Creator in 
the days of their youth. Without the presence of God, 
you may work and slave like a negro ; you may get 



10 THE BRITISH SAILOR. 

up at sunrise, and go to bed at midnight; you may 
weary your bodies and souls in scraping together this 
world's gear, but you will never have a comfortable 
home : fear, and distraction, and discontent, and disap- 
pointment, will continually await you. If, then, you 
desire to possess a peaceable, cheerful, and happy 
home, let God be worshipped there, that his presence 
and his blessings may abide with you always. 



ON THE CHARACTER 

OF THE 

BRITISH SAILOR. 

How difficult it is to allow our judgment and con- 
science to decide against our inclinations ! There 
are a thousand things in the world, the evil of which 
we are backward to discern, merely because they give 
us pleasure : we smile at the antics of a fool ; we 
laugh at the absurdities of a drunkard, while their fol- 
ly and wickedness are scarcely noticed. When sin 
is a subject of laughter, a source of pleasure, it cannot 
excite that abhorrence with which it ought ever to be 
regarded. 

There is much in the character of the British sailor, 
which leads us to make great allowance for his irregu- 
larities ; his frankness, his good-nature, his courage, 



THE BRITISH SAILOR. 11 

his attachment to his country, all enlist us in his fa- 
\'Our ; and if we meet him when he has taken an ex- 
tra glass of grog, occupying more of the pathway by 
his reeling to and fro, than he -ought to do, we are 
rather disposed to smile than to frown. But though 
this be the case with our inclination, judgment and 
conscience must condemn it. A drunkard is a drunk- 
ard still, whether he be the squalid and wretched 
frequenter of a gin-shop, or the jolly jack tar in his 
check shirt, blue jacket, and trowsers like the driven 
snow. 

The British sailor has long been a favourite with 
the public, and his wildest excesses are viewed with 
a forbearance which is not favourable to virtue. 

A short time ago, one of those scenes were presen- 
ted on the Thames, which never fail to attract atten- 
tion and afford thoughtless merriment. A jack tar 
seated in a wherry, was rowed up against tide and 
wind. He had just returned from India, and, sailor- 
like, was industriously disposed to get rid of his spare 
cash. He had a pipe in his mouth, and the clouds of 
smoke poured forth, showed that the smoker was in 
earnest, while with his right hand he flourished a 
flexible bamboo. Behind him was a large shaggy 
Newfoundland dog, who appeared as well pleased as 
Jack himself. Before him sat a musician, with a huge 
drum and Pandean pipes, playing away with all his 
power. As Jack passed the vessels in the river, and 
the wharfs, and the drinking rooms over-looking the 
water, he was cheered continually. When he arrived 
at St. Katharine's docks, he quitted the wherry, and 



12 ON THE CHARACTER OF 

hopped along on his real leg, for his other was a wood- 
en one, as nimbly as a kangaroo, while the spectatorSy 
assembled to witness his landing, greeted him with a 
cheer. Jack, and his Newfoundlander, were soon 
stowed in a coach ; the musician occupied the roof, 
striking up, " Rule Britannia," and the crowd loudly- 
cheered as Jack drove off, waving his hat good hu- 
mouredly from the coach window. 

Now, hundreds laughed at the manner of the sailor 
spending his holiday, how few would regret the ex- 
cesses that such a beginning was likely to lead to ! It 
is a melancholy reflection, that sin should so mingle 
■with the buoyant emotions of the heart ; but on thi& 
very account we ought to be more watchful over our- 
selves, yea, doubly mistrustful, in seasons of pleasure. 
The poison berry is no less fatal on account of its en- 
ticing appearance. The adder is no less deadly be- 
cause its hues are beautiful ; and sin is as destructive 
to our present and future peace, when, smiling, it pre- 
sents us with its honied cup, as it is when, in the shape 
of a monster, it opens its frightful and devouring jaws. 

Every word that I have written, savouring of re- 
proof, has been directed to my own heart, for the love 
of character and novelty is a sad temptation to Old 
Humphrey, and often leads him to smile when he 
ought to frown ; but it may be that you want a caution 
too. I have somewhere met with the saying, " He 
who laugh at sin is very likely to commit it." Let 
this be a caution to us both, for " he that covereth his 
sins shall not prosper : but whoso confesseth and for- 
saketh them shall have mercy," Pro v. xxviii. 13. 



PLAIN AND PITHY REMARKS. 13 



PLAIN AND PITHY REMARKS. 

I WANT no more than two minutes of your time, for 
I have very liltle to say, and that little will lie in a 
very small compass, though, if you attend to it, it may 
give you a great deal of peace. 

The best thing in this world is the assurance of a 
better : and our more immediate wants are food, rai- 
ment, and rest. If you would relish your food hearti- 
ly, labour to obtain it. If you would enjoy your rai- 
ment thoroughly, pay for it before you put it on ; and 
if you would sleep soundly, take a clear conscience 
to bed with you. Do these things, and you will be 
pretty well off in this world ; as to the next, if you 
have any desire to attain it, you must follow Him, who 
hath said, " I am the way." Rely on his atonement 
and walk in his ways, and you will be well provided 
for time and eternity. 

If thou wouldst dwell with raptur'd eyes 

Near God's eternal throne, 
" I am the way," the Saviour cries ; 

Walk in that way alone. 



CLOSE QUESTIONING. 

Do you pray without ceasing ? Do you strive as 
though salvation depended on works, and believe as 
though it could only be obtained by faith ? And do 
you, after all, renouncing your faith and your works, 

2 



14 CLOSE QUESTIONING. 

look only to the righteousness and death of Jesus 
Christ? 

Do you feel sin, repent of sin, abhor sin, and for- 
sake sin? Do you know what it is to doubt, to fear, 
to tremble, to despair, to believe, to hope, to trust, and 
to rejoice ? 

Do you feel your need of Jesus, and are you satis- 
fied that he, and he alone, is able and willing to save 
you ? Can you trust, even while you feel sin struggle 
within you, that the guilt of sin is removed from you ? 
yea, that the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all 
sin? 

Do you believe that the work of your redemption is 
finished, and yet long to be doing the will of your hea- 
venly Father, that day by day your faith may be con- 
firmed ? Do you mourn a hard and unbelieving heart, 
and yet melt at a Saviour's sufferings, believing in the 
hope set before you in the promises of God ? Do you 
see yourself surrounded with dangers, and yet feel 
conscious of security ? Do you grieve for an unholy 
hearl, and pant after holiness ? 

Have you more love for the Saviour, and do you feel 
more fear to offend him, than ever ? Is He your hope, 
your trust, your joy, and your only dependence ? Does 
t]ie Holy Spirit bear witness with your spirit that you 
are his? In the midst of your infirmities and your 
sins, can you say, mourning or rejoicing, abounding or 
suffering loss, hoping or fearing, winning or losing^ 
sinking or swimming, fighting or falling, living or dy- 
ing, I have no hope but in Jesus Christ and him cru- 
cified. 



ON TOPPERS. 15 



ON TOPPERS. 

Well, my friends, how passes time with you? 
With me it seems to hurry along as rapidly as a chaise 
and four ; if every week had fourteen days, and every 
day eight-and-forty hours, I should not even then be 
able to accomplish one-half what 1 undertake. Still, 
in the busiest life there are moments of leisure, and as 
even these ought to be turned to a profitable purpose, 
so you shall now have another hint from Old Hum- 
phrey. 

Many of you know London city, but as to knowing 
a hundreth part of these strange things which take 
place there, that is quite out of the question. My 
method is, when witnessing a multiplicity of odd oc- 
currences, to treat them as I do blackberries — I pass 
by a great many, and pick those that I like best. 

Whoever has been in London in the fruit season, 
must have heard men, women, and children, crying 
out in all directions, " Hautboys, fine hautboys." 

These hautboys are large strawberries, and are sold 
in baskets called pottles, which, tapering from the top, 
go off in a point at the bottom. 

I was passing along, on a hot day, when a pile of 
these pottles, in a fruiterer's shop, caught my atten- 
tion. On one side lay a pottle of particularly fine fruit, 
and I soon had hold of it ; but the man cried out in a 
hurry, " Stop, stop, sir, I can't sell them." 

" Can't sell them !" said I, " and what is the reason 
of that?" 



16 ON TOPPERS. 

" Oh," replied he, " can't sell them for they are top- 
pers.''^ 

Now, these toppers were the largest sized straw- 
berries, picked out on purpose to put on the tops of 
the other pottles, to make them look better than they 
really were. Come, thinks I to myself, if you will 
not let me have the toppers, you cannot hinder me 
from taking away the lesson they have taught me. 
So I walked off smiling, and talking to myself about 
the toppers. 

At the corner of the next street, at a draper's shop, 
some dozens of good-looking handkerchiefs were hang- 
ing at the door, and marked at the low price of four- 
pence each. Thinking this no bad opportunity of lay- 
ing in a stock of half-a-dozen or a dozen good hand- 
kerchiefs, for a worthy but poor friend, I entered the 
shop, but was told that they only sold these handker- 
chiefs to customers, and that if I had any of them, I 
must buy something else with them. Old Humphrey 
was soon out of the shop again, thinking to himself 
that he ought to have known better than to go into it. 
The handkerchiefs were nothing in the world but top- 
pers, and were hung at the door to make people be- 
lieve that things were sold cheaper at that shop than 
they really were. 

One of the objects I had in view in my walk, was 
to buy a leg of mutton ; and observing two very fine 
legs hanging by themselves at a butcher's shop, I told 
the butcher to pull one of them down, for that I had 
eel my mind upon it. 



ON TOPPERS. 17 

" The legs are sold, sir," said he, " but you may 
have the shoulders to match them." 

" Sold !" replied I ; " why if they are sold, what is 
the use of letting them hang up there ?" 

" Only to show what sort of mutton I sell said the 
butcher. I saw in a moment that the two legs of mut- 
ton were his toppers, and that, of course he would not 
part with them. 

When I came to Smithfield, I stopped awhile, for a 
horse-jockey was selling a horse to a young gentle- 
man, who appeared to me to have far more money in 
his pocket than judgment or discretion in his head. 
The gentleman seemed disposed to fancy a black 
horse, but the jocky began 'to puff off a brown one, 
and talked so much of " thorough bred," " courage," 
" spirit to the back-bone," " high action," " sure-foot- 
ed," " fast-going," " free from vice," " quiet as a lamb," 
and fifty other puffing phrases, that I thought to my- 
self, " Ay ! ay ! Mr. Horse-dealer, these highflying 
terms are your toppers, and will enable you, no doubt, 
to get rid of your brown horse." 

About an hour after, I saw two ladies getting into a 
coach, they were very gaily dressed, so much so that 
the scarf of the one, and the shawl of the other, were 
quite sufficient to attract attention ; but their head 
dresses struck me more than either the scarf or the 
shawl, for in one of them was stuck a bunch of arti- 
ficial flowers almost as big as a besom, and in the 
other, several ostrich feathers, a foot or two high. 
" More toppers," thought I, hurrying along, " and those 
who are caught by them may find, perhaps, the heads 

2* 



18 ON RICHES. 

of the wearers still lighter than the feathers and the 
flowers." 

Having occasion to call on a tradesman, to settle an 
account, I found him in a most ungovernable passion 
with his shopman for a trifling mistake ; this grieved 
me the more, because he had the credit of being a 
religious man, and a truly religious man will seek for 
grace to restrain his passions. The tradesman soon 
after began to talk to me on serious subjects, and quot- 
ed several texts of Scripture ; but 1 soon perceived 
that he was not sincere, that he was not religious at 
his heart, and that he merely used the texts of Scrip- 
ture as toppers, to enable him to pass as a religious 
character. 

Now, what shall we say to these things? Why, 
seeing the errors of others, let us try to avoid them, 
and act with godly sincerity, in things spiritual and 
temporal. 

Take, then, the hint of Old Humphrey ; bearing 
in mind that there are toppers in dress, toppers in trade 
and toppers in religion, as well as toppers in straw- 
berries. 



ON RICHES. 



Do not be over anxious about riches. Get as much 
of wisdom and goodness as you can ; but be satisfied 
with a very moderate portion of tliis world's good. 
Riches may prove a curse as well as a blessing. 



ON RICHES. 19 

I was walking through an orchard, looking about me 
when I saw a low tree laden more heavily with fruit 
than the rest. On a nearer examination it appeared 
that the tree had been dragged to the very earth by the 
weight of its treasures, and that its very roots had 
been pulled out of the ground. 

" Oh !" said 1, gazing on the prostrated tree, " here 
lies one who has been ruined by his riches." 

In another part of my walk, 1 came up with a shep- 
herd who was lamenting the loss of a sheep that lay 
mangled and dead at his feeu On inquiry about the 
matter, he told me that a strange dog had attacked the 
flock, that the rest of the sheep had got away through 
a hole in the hedge, but that the ram now dead, had 
more wool on his back llian the rest, and the thorns 
of the hedge held him fast, till the dog had worried 
liim. 

" Here is another," said I, " ruined by his riches." 

At the close of my ramlle, I met a man hobbling 
along on two wooden legs, leaning on two sticks. 

" Tell me," said I, " my poor fellow, how you came 
to lose your legs." 

" Why sir," said he, " in my younger days, I was a 
soldier. With a few comrades I had attacked a part 
of the enemy, and overcome them, and we began to 
load ourselves with spoil. My comrades were satis- 
fied with little, but I burdened myself with as much as 
I could carry. We were pursued, my companions es- 
caped, but I was overtaken, and so cruelly wounded, 
that I only saved my life by the loss of my legs. It 



20 ON GIN-DRINKING. 

was a bad affair, sir ; but it is too late to repent it 
now." 

" Ah, friend," thought I, " like the fruit tree, and the 
mangled sheep, you may date your down-fall to your 
possessions : it was your riches that ruined you." 

When I see so many rich people, as I do, caring so 
much for their bodies, and so little for their souls, I 
pity them from the bottom of my heart, and sometimes 
think there are as many ruined by riches as by pover- 
ty. " Give me neither poverty nor riches ; feed me 
with food convenient for me : lest I be full, and deny 
thee, and say. Who is the Lord ? or lest I be poor, and 
steal, and take the name of my God in vain," Prov. 
XXX. 8, 9. 



ON 

GIN-DRINKING. 



Listen ! listen ! for one hour's attentive hearing is 
better than two hours' thoughtless talking. 

What would the gin-drinker say, if, in passing along 
the street, he were to be suddenly dragged into a dir- 
ty, close, disagreeable hole ; to have his mouth forced 
open and a poison poured therein, so strong as to de- 
prive him not only of the use of his limbs, but of his 
reason ; and afterwards to be left to all the dangers of 
accidents, robbery, and ill-usage ? No doubt he would 
bitterly complain of such an outrage, and yet he acts 



ON GIN DRINKING. 21 

in this outrageous manner against himself every time 
he visits a gin-shop, and drinks to excess. If other 
men used the gin-drinker as ill as he uses himself, 
they would be sent to the tread-mill, at least, for their 
pains. 

What would the gin-drinker say, if in his absence 
from home, some scoundrel were to rob his house of 
furniture, food, and comforts, leaving his wife and child- 
ren destitute and afflicted ? Why, he would cry aloud 
for justice against the man who had robbed him of his 
property. And yet, he is acting the part of this thief 
himself, for by habitual gin-drinking he robs himself 
and his family continually. 

What would the gin-drinker say to the man who 
made it his business to go from one place to another, 
blasting his reputation, and spreading the report that 
he was idle, wasteful, disorderly, riotous, a brawler, 
and a drunkard 1 No doubt he would be filled with 
rage against such a libeller, and yet, he goes about 
himself, and proclaims all this, and ten times more, by 
gin-drinking, every day of his life. These things are 
bad enough, but the gin-drinker is not satisfied in do- 
ing even evils by halves. It is not enough to render 
himself and those around him miserable in this world, 
but he is industrious in blotting out all hope of happi- 
ness in the world which is to come. There are many 
ways to misery, but gin-drinking is one of the nearest. 

If you happen to be an honest and diligent work- 
man, with plenty of work to do ; if you possess the 
respect of your master, and the good-will of your fel- 
low workman, and have taken a fancy into your head, 



22 ON GIN-DRINKING. 

all at once, to get rid of your industry and your hones- 
ty, to lose the respect of your master, and the good 
opinion of your shop-mates, I will tell you how you 
may manage the matter in a very little time, and with 
very little trouble — learn to drink gin ! 

If you have a strong constitution, a colour in your 
cheek, a firm and a nimble step, a regular pulse, and 
a body altogether free from disease, and suddenly de- 
sire to become weakly and pale, and to move along 
like a tottering old man, and to have a feverish pulse, 
and to be afflicted with half a dozen complaints at the 
same time, you cannot do better than listen to me. 
You may go the wrong way to work about the matter, 
you may lose time, but I will tell you how you may 
be sure to succeed, with great dispatch — learn to drink 
gin I 

If you have a comfortable and peaceful home, a 
cheerful fire-side, a good bed, a joint of meat to put in 
the pot, with a trifle of money beforehand towards 
paying your rent, and have resolved to get rid of all 
these good things together, there are many ways of 
doing it, but the easiest way is to learn to drink gin ! 

If you have a tidy suit of clothes for Sunday ; if 
your wife is able to dress as comfortably as her neigh- 
bours ; if your children have good stuff frocks, or strong 
jackets and trowsers ; and you have any inclination to 
see how different you would all look if you were drest 
in rags, you may easily gratify your curiosity, you have 
nothing more to do than to learn to drink gin. 

If your credit is good ; if you owe nothing to any 
one ; if you have friends who are willing to assist 



ON GIN-DRINKING. 23 

you in your plans, and to stand by you in your difficul- 
ties ; and you wish to run into debt, to ruin your credit 
for ever, and to be left without a single friend in the 
world, all this may be done at once, if you learn to 
drink gin ! 

If yju have slept well ; if your mind has been at 
peace ; if your prospects have been cheerful ; if you 
have valuod your Bible ; if you have taken pleasure 
in religious aervices, and at length feel a hankering 
after a change ; if you choose your slumbers to be 
broken, your mind to be disturbed, your expectations 
to be clouded, your Bible to be despised, and religion 
to become a jest, then learn to drink gin ! 

If there are those in the world who have been dear 
to you ; if you have loved to add to their happiness ; 
if you have desired their eternal welfare, and now re- 
solve to love them no longer, but to wring their heart- 
strings with affliction, and to leave them undefended 
and uninstructed, to pass through poverty, wretched- 
ness, and crime, to destruction, learn to drink gin ! 

If, in short, you mean to make yourself completely 
miserable ; to look backwards with remorse, and 
forwards with fear ; to live in terror, and to die in des- 
pair ; there is no surer way of doing it in the whole 
world than that of resolutely determining to learn to 
drink gin ! 

But, now, if instead of running this wretched course, 
you really desire to do good and avoid evil, to live in 
favour with God and man, to be hopeful through time, 
and happy in eternity ; with every faculty of your 
body, soul, and spirit, cry aloud to the Strong for 



24 TO THE MEMBERS OF A TEMPERANCE SOCIETY. 

Strength to resist temptation, and for grace so to in- 
fluence your heart, that you may never learn to 

DRINK GIN ! 



TO THE MEMBERS 

OF A 

TEMPERANCE SOCIETY. 

Sharp weather this, my friends, sharp weather, and 
we all require something to warm us, for the blood 
does not flow so rapidly through our veins as it does 
in summer, when the lark sings blithely, and the mor- 
ning sun blazes in the sky. 

Old Humphrey would just ask this question, " Who 
among you ever got any good by gin-drinking ?" 

I said that we all required something to warm us. 
So we do ; and a coat or a jacket that is not out at 
the elbows, however coarse it may be, is a comfortable 
covering, especially if it be paid for. By the bye, did 
you ever take into consideration why it is, that a coat 
"which is paid for is more comfortable than one procur- 
ed on trust ? Those long tailors' bills for cloth, but- 
tons, tape, twist, buckram and thread, with scrawling 
figures on the right-hand, Dr. at the top, and no receipt 
at the bottom, take my word for it, are very ugly things. 
The tailor calls for his money at the wrong time ; just 
when we have not a sixpence to spare ; and our land- 



A TEMPERANCE SOCIETY. 25 

lord, if we happen to run a little behind in our rent, 
looks so sulky that we feel almost as much disposition 
to meet a wild bull in a miry lane as to face him. 
Now, these long tailors' bill, and these sulky landlords, 
which often turn a merry Christmas into a mourning 
new year, may be avoided by being industrious, and 
refraining from drinking gin. 

Let us soberly live, 
And leave folly and vice 
To those who drink gin, 
Who detest good advice. 

But I am forgetting myself again, for I was speaking 
about keeping ourselves warm in cold weather. The 
poor fellow who sits so close to the fire as to be half 
roasted on one side, and yet so much exposed to the 
cold draught from the door, that the other side is al- 
most frozen, cannot be very comfortable ; this, how- 
ever, is jast the case with the gin-drinker. He is 
piping hot one hour, and half- frozen to death the next. 
I will answer for it that a good sharp run, for about 
ten minutes, will warm you, even in this cold weather, 
twice as much as a glass of the best gin that was ever 
made, and then you will save three half-pence into the 
bargain. 

" A penny saved is a penny got," 
And will help to get somethuig to put in the pot. 

Why that rhyme is worth another penny ; if I go on 
in this way, I shall make you all as rich as Jews. 

What strange things happen ! This Temperance 
plan that is now getting so well known, would have 
been finely laughed at when I was a boy. Indeed, 

3 



26 TO THE MEMBERS OF 

for the matter of that, it is often well laughed at now, 
but there is a great deal more got by joining a Tem- 
perance Society than by laughing at it. Bill Simp- 
kins laughs at it for one, and Dick Holloway for 
another ; but Bill's jacket is sadly out at the elbows, 
and Dick has but just got out of prison, where he has 
been for debt. The old proverb says, " Let those 
laugh that win!" and therefore I think that you have 
much more reason to laugh than Bill Simpkins and 
Dick Holloway. 

Temperance is the father of health, cheerfulness, 
and old age. Drunkenness has so large a family that 
I cannot remember the names of one-half of them: 
however, disease, debt, dishonour, destruction, and 
death are among them, — not the most hopeful house- 
hold this in the world. 

He that wishes his cares and his troubles to cease, 
Must be sober, and ponder his Bible in peace ; 
But he who, mad-headed, thro' thick and thro' thin 
Would dash, on to ruin, must learn to drink gin. 

Within two hundred yards of the place where you 
are now assembled, 1 was, many years ago, roused at 
the dead of the night out of a sound sleep, by a man 
who was rolling and tumbling about among the gar- 
dens, and roaring out for assistance. I got up very 
unwillingly, for it was no joke to turn out of a com- 
fortable warm bed, on a raw cold night, to wait on a 
drunken fellow who is likely enough to kick your shins 
for any kindness you may render him. Well, the 
drunken man proved to be a soldier, who had taken 
so much grog after a review, that he had not only lost 



A TEMPERANCE SOCIETY. 27 

his musket, and cap, and feather, but himself also ; for 
he had, no one knew how, scrambled over tv/o or three 
garden walls, coming, at last, quite to a stand still, and 
roaring out lustily for assistance. 

All this came of drinking grog. As I led him 
home, — and a pretty job I had of it, — he promised me 
half the riches of the West Lidies for the part I had 
taken, but I never saw him again. 

Now, what a brave fellov/ he would have been, when 
in the pickle in which I found him, to quell a riot, or 
to attack an enemy, or to defend property ! Why, a lad 
of fourteen, with a knobbed stick, would have been a 
match for half-a-dozen such valorous heroes. Take 
my word for it, drinking never yet made a good soldier, 
nor a good citizen. 

Let Old Humphrey encourage you to continue your 
temperate career ; for though it may not remove all the 
troubles you have, it will assuredly prevent many more 
from coming upon you. However temperate we may 
be, we shall be sure to make mistakes enough in the 
world, and bring upon ourselves enough of trouble, at 
least Old Humphrey has found it to be so ; but the 
drunkard goes abroad in quest of care, buckles it on 
his back, and carries it home to his miserable habita- 
tion. 

Again I say, Be sober. 

Temptation's luring wiles beware, 

And 'mid ten thousand mercies given, 
Walk humbly through this world of care, 

And keep your eyes and hearts on heaven. 



28 ON SLEEP. 



ON SLEEP. 



How do you sleep at night my friends ? How do 
you sleep at night ? I have just risen from my bed 
with a buoyant body and a grateful spirit, comforted 
and invigorated by refreshing slumber. What a mer- 
ciful provision of an all-merciful God, for the bodily 
ills and mental sorrows of human beings, is the bless- 
ing of sleep ! How gently it extracts the thorny cares 
of the mind ! How delightfully it soothes the throb- 
bing pulse and agonizing head ! and how mysterious- 
ly it pours its balm into the wasted frame, compos- 
ing, comforting, strengthening it ; again to endure, to 
achieve, and to enjoy? 

Though the rich often enjoy it, sound sleep is the 
peculiar heritage of the working man. How frequent- 
ly does it quit the tapestried chamber and the damask- 
curtained bed, to rest on the pallet of labour and toil ! 
" The sleep of a labouring man is sweet, whether he 
eat little or much : but the abundance of the rich will 
not suffer him to sleep," Eccles. v. 12. 

A quiet chamber is very necessary to secure us rest, 
but a quiet conscience is yet more so ; indeed with- 
out it, refreshing slumber is almost out of the question. 
Trust in the Lord ; commit your ways to him ; cling 
to and cast your sins and sorrows upon the Saviour of 
sinners, and seek his grace to love him, to serve him, 
to obey him, and to rejoice in him ; then " when thou 
liest down thou shalt not be afraid, yea thou shalt lie 
down, and thy sleep shalt be sweet," Prov. iii. 24. 



ON SLEEP. 29 

Squire Jenkinson, who was both weak and wicked, 
could get no rest. He had a noble mansion, fine pleas- 
ure grounds, and a beautiful carriage drawn by beau- 
tiful horses. His table was supplied with every 
luxury, and his friends were the most cheerful com- 
panions in the world ; but, still. Squire Jenkinson 
could get no rest. Sometimes he went to bed early, 
and sometimes he went to bed late ; but, whether late 
or early, it was just the same. " There is no peace 
for the wicked," and there was no peace for Squire 
Jenkinson. 

He applied to his friends, who told him to take ex- 
ercise, and to drink an extra glass of grog before he 
went to bed. He applied to his doctor, and he gave 
him laudanum and opium ; but in spite of exercise, 
and grog, and laudanum, and opium, no sound rest 
could he obtain. At last he consulted Thomas Perrins, 
his gardener. Now, Thomas Perrins was an humble 
Christian, and well knew that his master feared not 
God ; that he was unjust, and cruel, and oppressed the 
widow and the fatherless, and that his conscience 
troubled him ; so Thomas told hiui, that old Gilbert 
Powel, who lived hard by on the waste land, always 
slept famously, but that, perhaps, he wore a different 
kind of a night-cap. 

Mistaking the meaning of Thomas Perrins, away 
went Squire Jenkinson, v/ho was, as I said, a weak- 
minded man, with one of his best night-caps in his 
pocket, to exchange it for that of old Gilbert Powel. 
He soon got ihe cap, and had it washed and well aired ; 
and when night came, he went to bed in good spirits, 

3* 



30 ON SELFISHNESS. 

hoping to have a comfortable night's sleep : but no ! 
though he put it on in all shapes, and placed himself 
in all postures, Squire Jenkinson could get no rest. 

As soon as the sun rose, he hastened to the cottage 
on the waste land, to know how Gilbert Powel had 
rested, when Gilbert told him that he never had a bet- 
ter night's rest in all his life ; and was quite delighted 
with his new night-cap. 

Perplexed and cast down, Squire Jenkinson then 
■went once more to his gardener, to tell him of the ill 
success which had attended his plan of borrowing the 
night-cap of Gilbert Powel ! 

" It cannot be Gilbert's cap," said he, " which 
makes him sleep so soundly, for he wore one of mine, 
and he tells me that he never had a more comfortable 
cap in his life." 

" Ay, master," said Thomas Perrins, shaking his 
head significantly, as he leaned on his spade, " but to 
my knowledge he wears another cap besides the one 
you gave him, the cap of a quiet conscience, and he 
who wears that is sure to sleep well, let him wear 
what other cap he pleases. 



ON SELFISHNESS. 



I WANT to speak a word or two about selfishness, in 
such a way that you will be likely to remember my 
observations. Listen, then, to a pleasant tale, without 
asking me where I picked it up. When a man buys a 



ON SELFISHNESS. 31 

new coat, it matters but little whether it be ready made, 
or made on purpose for him, so that it fits him, and 
answers his purpose : the same remark will apply to 
my story. 

Once on a time, a great commotion took place ; 
never, indeed, was there a greater hubbub in the town, 
for all classes were huddled together, as though they 
were determined to create confusion. They seemed 
to be contending the point which was of the most im- 
portance amongst them ; and as they all entertained a 
good opinion of themselves, so every one was more 
anxious to speak, than to listen to his neighbour. Af- 
ter a while, the hubbub a little subsided, and the peo- 
ple, instead of speaking all together, spoke one after 
another. 

The Lawyer remarked, that society could not be 
held together without law ; that it was the perfection 
of reason, and the bond of union ; and that the lawyer 
ought to be first in every legal assembly. 

The Doctor could by no means treat the case in this 
way, as he was sure it would sadly derange society. 
" There is," said he, " a physical reason why man- 
kind should prefer the use of their limbs to anything 
else ; for if a man has nof health, all the wealth and 
all the law in the world will be of no use to him." 

A Farmer, dressed in his Sunday clothes, kept 
thrashing his boot, while he frankly told them his 
mind. " Hark ye, gemmen," said he, looking at the 
Lawyer and the Doctor, " I have one plain question lo 
put to you : What would you do with all your law, and 



32 ON SELFISHNESS. 

all your physic, if ye had no corn ? Now, I reckon 
him to be the first man who follows the plough." 

" Following the plough is useful enough," said a 
Miller, " for, as you say, none of us can do very well 
without corn ; but, Farmer Brown," continued he, 
winking his eyes as he spoke, " we are not to eat our 
food like pigs in a sty ! 'Tis the flour that we eat, not 
the straw and the chaff; therefore there is not a more 
useful man than an honest Miller." 

" You seem to know how to speak a good word for 
yourself, Mr. Grist," cried out a Baker, " but your flour 
would be but poor stuff to set before a man, if it was 
not made into bread. There is a batch of people in 
the world who are as crusty as you please, and all be- 
cause they cannot draw as much applause as they 
want ; but, for all that, a good Baker is as good as 
any of them." 

No sooner had he done speaking, than a Butcher, in 
his blue apron, with a face red like his own beef, came 
forward : " What," says he, " Mr. Gnawcrust, you want 
us all to carry faces as deathly pale as your own dough, 
do you ? but that wont do, let me tell you. The roast 
beef of old England is the only food to make a man 
what he should be." 

•' What you have said about beef is all right," said 
a Cook, "but, then, the beef must be roasted, and not 
raw. I don't care a dumpling for any man who sets 
himself up above his neighbours, and I'll maintain that 
a Cook is as fit as another to sit at the head of the 
table." 

A Publican, with a ruby-coloured nose, declared, 



ON SELFISHNESS. 33 

that, though good eating was a good thing, a glass of 
good stingo was much better. He thought a Publican 
ought to rank high in the world, since he made all his 
customers as happy as kings. 

" But where would be the use of your eating and 
drinking," said a Builder, " if you had no house to put 
your heads in ? A Builder defends you from the storm 
and the tempest, and has as firm a foundation for the 
good-will of his neighbours as any one amongst you.'' 

" Not "SO fast !" cried a Carpenter, " you may build 
a wall and a chimney, but you can't keep out the tem- 
pest that you talk of, without me, for where is your 
roof to come from, and your door? A Carpenter is a 
better man than a Builder, for he finishes what you 
begin." 

A Tanner told them that a hide of good leather was 
more useful than all. In this opinion a Currier agreed, 
but added, that the hide must be dressed and improved, 
and then the old saying was true, " There is nothing 
like leather." 

The Shoemaker, the Tailor, the Tinker, and various 
others, had each something to say in his own favour. 
The Grocer was very spicy in his remarks, caring not 
a fig for the best of them ; and the Undertaker gravely 
declared, while he adjusted the crape on his hat, that 
he had a claim on their regard, because when all man- 
kind had done their best, his assistance was still ne- 
cessary. 

It is uncertain how long the debate might have last- 
ed, had not a Watchmaker, who well knew what was 



34 ON SELFISHNESS. 

working within them, thus touched the mainspring of 
every heart. 

" Doctor," said he, " as I passed by the Red Lion, 
poor Lighthead, the landlord, fell down in a fit." " I 
hear," said he to the Lawyer, " that Alderman Hawkes 
is much worse, and thinks of making his will." The 
Avords worked wonders for the Lawyer and the Doctor 
soon vanished away. 

" My good friends," said he to the rest of the multi- 
tude, " I have just heard capital news. My Lord Dash 
is come down to spend some months at the Hall, and 
his stDward is now waiting at the Golden Cross, to 
open accounts with the tradesmen around. They say 
that he gives out his orders freely, and pays nothing 
but ready money." 

What the Watchmaker said was true ; and never, 
sure, had words a more sudden effect on a crowd. 
All started off immediately, except the Undertaker, 
who was left all alone. Some went one way, and some 
another, but they all found their way to the Golden 
Cross. 

Come, I have told you a long story, but it will be 
yonr fault if it do you no good. We are all of us sad- 
ly too selfish, and we see this failing in others, but not 
in ourselves. Try then to amend it. Good nature is 
preferable to ambition. Contentment is better than 
affluence ; indeed, " godliness with contentment is 
great gain ;" and that man is as rich as Crcssus, who 
can find pleasure in the success of his neighbour. 
Learn the lesson that I wish to be inculcated — Be less 
selfish than you are, then your hearts will be light, and 



ON COAL. 35 

your consciences peaceful, and you will never repent 
hearing these observations against Selfishness. 



ON COAL. 

Read it not in summer, but when the snow is on the ground, when the wa- 
ters are congealed with frost, and your hands tingle with cold. 

Did you ever thank God, unfeignedly, for the com- 
fort you derive from coal ? If you never did, do so 
now. What would be the condition of ten thousand 
times ten thousand people in the world, if this useful 
commodity were suddenly taken away ? And yet how 
few of the millions who are benefited by it, ever offer 
up their thanksgiving, in an especial manner, to its 
bountiful Donor for so pleasant, so animating, so com- 
forting a commodity ! Every hand that is spread to 
the glowing coals should be spread also in thanksgiv- 
ing ; and every heart that glows with the genial 
warmth should glow also with praise. When I gaze 
on a cheerful fire in the chilly months of winter, 

"E'en while the curling flames arise, 
They seem the ascending sacrifice 
Presented by man's gratitude 
To God, the source of every good." 

Coals are scattered, with a hand more or less spar- 
ing, over almost every kingdom of the earth ; and the 
coal-mines of England have been much more produc- 
tive and valuable than the gold and silver mines of 
America. The supply of London alone, is one mil- 
lion eight hundred thousand chaldrons of coal yearly. 



36 ON COAL. 

The niglit was stormy, and not a star was seen in 
the heavens, as I hastened homeward, wet and weary. 
The deep snow, which lay on the ground, was thaw- 
ing fast away, and the wind and the rain beat upon me 
fearfully. Drenched to the skin, with my hands and 
feet numbed with cold, I reached my cheerful habita- 
tion. In a short time I had removed my wet clothing 
for more comfortable habiliments, and was seated, with 
my coffee before me, at no great distance from a blaz- 
ing fire. It is wonderful how a partial deprivation in- 
creases our enjoyments ! As I felt the genial warmth 
of the glowing fire diffusing itself over my frame, I 
felt grateful, almost to tears, and gazed on the burning 
coals as on one of His gifts who is " good to all, and 
whose tender mercies are over all his works," Psa. 
cxlv. 9. 

Fire is a comfortable thing even to the young, in 
the pinching days and nights of December, for the 
frosts and the thaws are both searching ; but to the 
aged fire is almost as necessary as food. 

After sipping my coffee, I turned towards the fire, 
while the wind roared around the house, and began to 
reflect how much our winter comforts depend on coal. 

When the heart is softened with a sense of God's 
mercies, it matters but little what is the subject of its 
speculations ; like the fabled stone of the alchymist, 
it turns every thing into gold. An instrument, finely 
strung, will produce harmonious sounds, whatever be 
the air that is played upon it. 

I thought upon the various uses of coal in cookery, 
ia manufacturies, in steam engines, and especially in 



ON COAL. 37 

communicating warmth to the human frame, and I 
thanked God for " his goodness, and for his wonderful 
worlis to the children of men," Psa. evil. 8. But man 
is ever wondering why the operations of nature are 
not carried on in agreement with his own wisdom, 
and I, for the moment, thought what difficuhy and dan- 
ger man would be spared, if coal lay nearer the surface, 
instead of being bedded in the bosom of the earth. 
But had this been the case, unknown evils might have 
arisen from it ; and we know that thousands and tens 
of thousands of people, now employed in obtaining 
this useful substance, must have laboured for subsis- 
tence in a different manner. I passed by the getting 
of the coal from the mine, and the transporting of it 
in boats, in barges, and in ships, and considered the 
classes of people who purchased it for their comfort. 
He who is engaged in large undertakings, buys it by 
the barge load, and others by the boat load ; but where 
an article is plentiful, it seldom excites that thankful- 
ness which deprivation calls forth from the needy. It 
is bought in tons or chaldrons by the middle classes 
of society, who usually lay it in when it is sold at the 
cheapest rate. But, even here, the comfort it imparts 
is not duly estimated. Those who buy coals by the 
chaldron are not the most grateful for so valuable a gift 
of the Almighty. 

Another class purchase coals by the sack : many a 
poor widow, slenderly provided for, many a decayed 
householder, and many a man of genius struggling 
with poverty, are included in this class. The coal is 
placed on the fire with care, and the lessening store 

4 



38 " ON COAL. 

regarded with anxiety : by these, the value of coal is 
known, and ought to be continually and gratefully ac- 
knowledged. But there is yet another class, who buy 
coals by the bushel, by the peck, or by two pennyworth 
at a time. When I contrast the heaped-up glowing 
hearths of the rich with the slenderly supplied fire- 
places of the poor, I yearn to be the owner of a coal 
mine. Would that I could in the drear and dark 
months of winter so warm the hearts of the rich, as 
to move them to supply the hearths of the needy. 
" Blessed is he that considereth the poor ; the Lord 
will deliver him in time of trouble. The Lord will 
strengthen him upon the bed of languishing, and make 
all his bed in his sickness," Psa. xli. 1, 3. O ye 
barge and boat buyers ! Ye ton and chaldron pur- 
chasers ! Ye who send for a sack at a time ! think a 
moment on their deprivations who can only raise two 
pennyworth at a time ! How many a shrivelled arm 
and bony finger is held shivering over the expiring 
spark, on a cold winter's night, in habitations where 
food and raiment are scanty ! Think of this, and be 
more grateful for the gifts of God so abundantly be- 
stowed on yourselves. Seek out the ill-supplied 
hearths of the poor and the miserable, light up their 
cheerless habitations, and warm their hearts with your 
bounty. 



lb 



ON CAPITAL. 39 

ON CAPITAL; 

OR, 

PLENTY MORE IN THE CELLAR. 

Many things surprise me, my good friends, in this 
wonderful world, and, among tnem, I am amazed at the 
small capital with which some people begin and carry- 
on business. Were we to judge by the magnificent 
names that are given to many trading concerns, we 
might be led to suppose that they must produce a 
princely return. 

" Original Establishment," " Grand Depot," " Me- 
troplitan Mart," and " National Institution," so amplify 
our expectations, that we are not, all at once, prepared 
to witness the slender stock, the " beggarly account of 
empty boxes," that too frequently compose them. We 
might almost think, by their hand-bills, that some small 
grocers, who have hardly a chest of tea on their prem- 
ises, had opened a regular account with the merchants 
at Canton. 

There is a deal of outside in this world, both in 
persons and things. 

Some years ago I happened to know a civil, well- 
behaved young man, who, anxious to make his way in 
the world, opened a shop for the sale of cheese, butter, 
soap, candles, and such like things ; but not possessing 
ten pounds of his own, it was absolutely necessary to 
set off the little stock he possessed to advantage. 
His small shop was fresh painted, and the window 



40 ON CAPITAL. 

well piled up with such articles as he had to dispose 
of. The world around him considered these articles 
to be his samples., while, in truth, they were his stock. 
All that he had, with a little exception, he crowded 
into his window. In a back room he had a few pounds 
of cheese, butter, and bacon, as well as a shilling's 
worth or two of eggs and other articles ; but the bulk 
of his establishment was, as I before said, exhibited 
in his window. Whenever any customers came in, 
he begged them not to take what they did not like, as 
he had " plenty more in the cellar." 

Every now and then he ran backwards, to fetch 
some part of the stores he had withheld ; his cus- 
tomers concluding, on such occasions, that he had de- 
scended to his vaults below for his supplies : for though 
there was in reality no cellar to the house, no one 
doubted the observation so frequently made by him, 
" I have plenty more in the cellar !" Now, I commend 
his anxiety to make the best of his stock, though I 
cannot but censure the boasting deceit which he prac- 
tised on his unsuspecting customers. 

Alas ! my friends, there are crowds of people in the 
world acting exactly in the same manner. They 
begin and carry on their concerns, of whatever kind 
they may be, with very little capital. They make 
large pretensions ; they carry an air of importance, 
and pass for what they are not ; in other words, like 
the vender of cheese, butter, and bacon, they crowd 
all they have into the window, and boldly declare, that 
they have " plenty more in the cellar." 

Do not suppose that I am speaking of shopkeepers 



ON CAPITAL. 41 

only, for I allude to all classes of society. Whatever 
may be the profession and calling of men, who over- 
rate their means and endowments, who pass for pos- 
sessors of great capital, either in goods, riches, and 
talents, when their resources in all are slender ; who 
occupy imposing positions which they know they are 
not qualified to sustain, they all come under the same 
description. You may speak of their conduct in what 
way you will, but if I attempt to describe it in my 
homely way, I shall say, that all crowd the little they 
possess into the window, and try to persuade people 
they have "plenty more in the cellar." 

Again I say, there is a deal of outside in the world. 
If we knew the little wisdom that is possessed by 
many a pompous declaimer, in praise of his own un- 
derstanding, and the little wealth in the pockets of 
many who wear rings on their fingers, and chains of 
gold around their necks, we should, with one consent, 
agree, that their business is carried on with a small 
capital ; that they do, indeed, crowd all they have into 
the window, and strive manfully to convince the world, 
they have " plenty more in the cellar." 

Do not think Old Humphrey severe ; he would not 
willingly become so, for he knows too well, that in 
his own heart may be found the gorm of every error 
he condeums in the conduct of others : he must, how- 
ever be faithful, even though his remarks bear heavy 
on himself. 

What think ye, my friends ? Do you know any to 
whom these observations will apply '( If so, it may 

be kind of you to repeat to them my admonitions ; 

4* 



42 A WORD OF ENCOURAGEMENT 

and if you yourselves should happen to be faulty in 
the thing of which 1 have spoken, bear with me, and 
endure my reproof. It is my own settled conviction, 
after some knowledge of the world, and some acquain- 
tance with my own heart, that it is a general failing, 
to " think more highly of ourselves than we ought to 
think," and that sometimes knowingly, and sometimes 
unknowingly, we all crowd what we possess into the 
window, and cry aloud to our neighbours, " We have 
plenty more in the cellar." 



A WORD OF ENCOURAGEMENT 

TO 

A CHRISTIAN. 

What, art thou faint-hearted ? Hast thou forgotten 
the faithfulness of Him who has said, " 1 will not fail 
thee, nor forsake thee V Josh. i. 5. For shame ! for 
shame ! Fear not, for they that be with thee are more 
than they that be against thee. 

Dost thou want to see horses and chariots of fire 
drawn out for thy protection, or thousands of angels 
on the wing for thy defence ? Thou hast much more 
than these ! Look around thee with the eye of faith, 
and see who is on thy side. See who is pledged for 
thy defence, thy safety, thy comfort, and thy joy. 
God the Father, in all his Divine and his Almighty 



TO A CHRISTIAN. 43 

perfections, infinite in strength, in wisdom, and in 
goodness ; whose word is power, and whose arm none 
can withstand. The lightnings are in his hands, and 
the thunders ; and his are the hosts and the armies of 
heaven. He will not leave thee, nor forsake thee. 
" Fear thou not ; for I am with thee : be not dismay- 
ed ; for I am thy God : I will strengthen thee ; yea, 1 
will help thee ; yea, I will uphold thee with the right 
hand of my righteousness," Isa. xli. 10. 

God the Redeemer, clothed with grace as with a 
garment, in the richness of His mercy, and the ful- 
ness of His love. He is on thy side. He has suffer- 
ed for thy sins, and atoned for thy iniquities. He has 
lived, he has died, yea, risen again, for thee. " When 
Christ, who is our life, shall appear, then shall ye also 
appear with Him in glory," Col. iii. 4. 

" Come ye blessed of my Father, inherit the king- 
dom prepared for you from the foundation of the world," 
Matt. XXV. 34. 

God the Holy Ghost, quickening, consoling, guiding 
and strengthening thee, surrounding thee with all his 
hallowed influences, is with thee. He encourages 
thee with his merciful invitations. " Come. And 
let him that heareth say, Come. And let him that is 
athirst come. And whosoever will, let him take the 
water of life freely," Rev. xxii. 17. 

Take comfort. Christian ! The attributes of God, 
the graces of Jesus Christ, and the consolations of the 
Holy Ghost, are in league for thy benefit, joined together 
for thy good ; and such a threefold cord cannot pos- 
sibly be broken. Thou owedst much, but thy debt is 



44 THE OLD TREE. 

paid ; thy sins are many, but they have been forgiven. 
Christ has died for thee, and thou mayest now say, 
" Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righ- 
teousness which the Lord the righteous judge, shall 
give me at that day, " 2 Tim. iv. 8. 
Go on then with confidence. 

Though thousand foes thy heart appal, 

And death and hell combine, 
Yet Shalt thou win thy way through all, 

And heav'n, indeed, be thine. 



THE OLD TREE. 



I can remember the old tree in Bonfield's Close 
ever since I was a boy, and most likely it had been 
standing for many a long year before I set my eyes 
upon it. Never were greener leaves than those that 
grew upon it, nor finer acorns and oak balls ; but by the 
time that I became a young man it had begun to de- 
cay. 

It is amazing to me, dying worms as we are, that 
our minds are not more impressed than they are with 
the symbols of decay that surround us on every harid. 
We have " line upon line, precept upon precept," in 
the withered leaf and the faded flower, the rotten 
bough and the perished root ; but yet, we do not habi- 
tually apply them to ourselves. We cannot see till 
God opens our eyes ; we cannot hear till he unstops 
our ears. 

The old tree decayed more and more, and last year, 



THE OLD TREE. 45 

when the rude November winds began to blow, every 
body said it would be sure to come down ; but every 
body was wrong, for though the blast blew, the old tree 
stood its ground. 

• The winter passed away, and the snow that lay 
thick on the ground melted. January had gone, and 
February was come, and then some of the knowing 
ones shook their heads, and said, " We shall see what 
the next month will do for it ; the March winds will 
settle the business ; down the old tree must come.*' 
Old folks are not always wise : indeed none of us are 
so, till God gives us wisdom from above. The March 
winds came, and blew fiercely, but the old tree re- 
mained, seemingly as firm as ever. 

In April, a saw-pit was dug under the tree, and ma- 
ny of its roots were severed ; and then the cry was, 
" It never can stand that : the first storm that comes 
across the country will blow down the old tree." 
During the month, two or three storms came, and 
sharp storms too, but the old tree was not blown 
down. 

In May, and June, and July, it looked fresh as a 
daisy, leafed, and acorned, and oak-balled as it was ; 
but in August, a hornet's nest being found in it, the 
boys at the school put some straw at the bottom of the 
hollow trunk, and set it on fire. " Oh, oh !" said the 
long-heads, " the touch-wood will soon be all in a 
lightshine, and nothing now can save the old tree." 
The long-heads were wrong again, for a shower fell, 
the straw went out, the touch-wood was extinguished, 
and the old tree still occupied its accustomed spot. 



46 THE OLD TREE. 

{ 

In September, Farmer Bonfield threatened to cut < 
it down, and I verily believe he u^ould have been as ] 
good as his word had he not been unexpectedly cut 
down himself. In a moment, in the twinkling of an 
eye, it pleases God sometimes to remove us. Farmer 
Bonfield fell, but the old tree stood as upright as be- 
fore. 

The cunning ones had so often been deceived, that 
they became a little chary of their opinion. There 
was, it is true, a little whispering in October, about 
the unlikelihood of its weathering through the next 
blustering month, but nobody liked to speak decidedly 
about the matter. They did venture, however, to say, 
that it was safe for anocher month. But here they 
quite missed the mark ; for when no one expected it, 
a storm came on at night, the old tree shook and 
groaned, and bent and bowed, till, at last, down it 
come ; so that when the labouring men went through 
Bonfield's Close to their work in the morning, there 
lay the old tree. 

Will this be read by any poor, infirm, aged, and 
storm-beaten brother, who has not yet fled for refuge 
to the hope set before him ? who is not trusting in 
Christ as a strong defence in the hour of calamity : 
but only looking forward to a prolonged life ? To him 
would I say, *' What is your life 1 It is even a va- 
pour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanish- 
eth away." James iv. 14. 

The old tree, whose root was vigorous, whose stem 
and branches were strong, and whose leaves were 



THE OLD TREE. 47 

green, at last fell to decay ; and in an hour, when 
least expected, it came to the ground. 

You, like the old tree, have stood many years ; and 
I dare say, if the truth were known, you are not with- 
out infirmity. Is there nothing in the decayed trunk, 
the faded leaf, and the rotten bough, that reminds you 
of yourself? 

How are your legs ? Can you tramp about as 
you used to do ? Have you no stiffness in the knees 
no cramps in the calves? How is the body? Do 
you feel all sound and strong ? Is your appetite quite 
what it was ? Is your breath good ? Do you never 
require cough drops, nor soothing syrups ? And do you 
sleep as soundly as when you were younger? 

How is your head ? Do you never feel a giddiness ? 
nor a singing in your ears ? Are you as quick of 
hearing as ever? Is your sight clear? no motes ? no 
weakness ? no inflammation ? 

Come ! come ! own the truth. You are not what 
you have been. You cannot pick up a pin from the 
ground suddenly without feeling a screw in your back ; 
nor run a hundred yards of even ground without pant- 
ing fearfully, even if you are able to make a run of it 
at all. 

Do not fill yourself up with the idle notion, because 
your rheumatism is a little better, and your breath 
not quite so short as it was, that you are growing 
young again. 

What if you do weather through the ague, and re- 
cover from the fever when every body thought you 
would die, is that any reason why the next malady 



48 ON BLANKETS. 

which affects you will not lay you low ? Old Hum- 
phrey cries aloud to you, " Set your house in order: 
for one of these dull or sunshiny days, or one of these 
dark or moonshiny nights, you may be called away in 
a moment." 

Fools that we are to disregard as we do the merci- 

o 

ful admonitions of heaven-sent afflictions ! When we 
recover from sickness, and recruit our health, we re- 
gard it as a proof of the strength of our constitutions, 
rather than as a mark of the forbearing, indulgent 
kindness of a merciful God. Oh that more frequently 
the words emanated from our tongues, and from our 
hearts, " Lord, make me to know mine end, and the 
measure of my days, what it is ; that I may know 
how frail I am. Behold, thou hast made my days as an 
handbreath ; and mine age is as nothing before thee : 
verily every man at his best state is altogether vanity." 
Psalm xxxix. 4, 5. 



ON BLANKETS. 



To be read on a cold night in November. 

Help me my young friends ! Help me, for the 
poor stand in need of comfort : let us try to do them a 
kindness. 

How the casements rattle ! and hark, how the bitter, 
biting blast whistles among the trees ! It is very cold, 
and soon will be colder. 1 could shiver at the thought 
of winter, when the icicles hang from the water-butt, 



ON BLANKETS. 49 

when the snow lies deep upon the ground, and the 
cold, cold wind seems to freeze the heart as well as 
the finger ends. 

Yet, after all, the darkest night, the bitterest blast, 
and the rudest storm, confer some benefit, for they 
make us thankful for the roof that covers us, the fire 
that warms us, and for the grateful influence of a com- 
fortable bed. 

Oh the luxury of a good, thick, warm pair of blank- 
ets, when the wintry blast roars in the chimney, while 
the feathery flakes of snow are flying abroad, and the 
sharp hail patters against the window-panes ! 

Did you ever travel a hundred miles on the outside 
of a coach, on a sharp frosty night ; your eyes stiffen- 
ed, your face smarting, and your body half-petrified 1 
Did you ever keep watch in December in the open 
air, till the more than midnight blast had pinched all 
your features into sharpness ; till your feet were cold 
as a stone, and the very stars appeared as if frozen to 
the sky? If you have never borne these things, I 
have ; but what are they compared with the trials that 
some people have to endure ? 

Who can tell the sufferings of thousands of poor 
people in winter, from the want of warm bed-clothes ! 
and who can describe the comfort that a pair or two of 
blankets communicate to a destitute family ! How of- 
ten have I seen the wretched children of a wretched 
habitation, huddling together on the floor, beneath a 
ragged great-coat, or flimsy petticoat, striving to derive 
that warmth from each other which their scanty cover- 
ing failed to supply ! 

5 



60 ON BLANKETS. 

In many places, benevolent persons give or lend 
blankets to the poor, and thus confer a benefit, the val- 
ue of which can hardly be told. May they be abundant- 
ly repaid by the grace of that Saviour who said, when 
speaking of kindnesses done to his disciples, " Inas- 
much as ye have done it unto one of the least of these 
my brethren, ye have done it unto me," Matt. xxv. 40. 

Think of these things now, for it will be of no use 
to reflect on them in summer. Charity is never so 
cordial as when it feels the misery it relieves ; while 
you feel the cold, then do something to protect others 
from the inclemency of the season. It is enough to 
be ill-fed, and ill-clothed, and to sit bending over a dy- 
ing fire without a handful of fuel to revive it ; but after 
that to pass the night without a blanket for a covering, 
must indeed be terrible. 

See in the sharpest night the poor old man, over 
whose head threescore and ten winters have rolled, 
climbing with difficulty his narrow staircase, to creep 
beneath his thin and ragged coverlet ! See the aged 
•widow, once lulled in the lap of luxury, but now girt 
around with trials, in fastings often, in cold, and almost 
nakedness, worn by poverty to the very bones, stretch- 
ing her cramped limbs upon her bundle of straw ! 
Fancy, — but why fancy what you know to be true ? — ■ 
these poor, aged, miserable beings have to shiver through 
the live-long night, when a blanket would gird them 
round with comfort. I could weep at such miseries as 
these, — miseries which so small an effort might relieve. 
The table-crumbs of the rich would make a banquet 



ON BLANKETS. 51 

for the poor, and the spare remnants of their clothing 
would defend them from the cold. 

Come, come, reader ! you are not without some feel- 
ing of pity and affection for your fellow creatures. Be 
not satisfied in wishing them well ; let something be 
done for their welfare. 

If there be a heart within you, if you have a soul 
that ever offered up an expression of thanksgiving for 
the manifold mercies which your heavenly Father has 
bestowed upon you, then sympathize with the wretch- 
ed, and relieve, according to your ability, the wants of 
the destitute. Let me beseech you to do something 
this very winter towards enabling some poor, aged, 
helpless, or friendless person, who is slenderly provi- 
ded for, to purchase a blanket. You will not sleep 
the less comfortably, when you reflect that some shiv- 
ering wretch has been, by your assistance, enabled to 
pass the wintry night in comfort. It is not a great 
thing that is required ; do what you can, but do some- 
thing. Let me not plead in vain ; and shame betide 
me if I neglect to do myself the thing that I recom- 
mend to you to perform. 

Did you ever lie snug and warm in bleak December, 
the bed-clothes drawn close round your neck, and your 
nightcap pulled over your ears, listening to the mid- 
night blast, and exulting in the grateful glow of your 
delightful snuggery ? I know you have, and I trust, too, 
that the very reading of these remarks will affect your 
hearts, and dispose you to some " gentle deed of char- 
ity" towards those who are destitute of such an enjoy- 
ment. 



52 ON GOOD LIVING. 

Now, then, while the subject is before you, while 
you look round on your manifold comforts, while you 
feel the nipping and frosty air, resolve, aye, and act, 
in a way that will bless others, and give comfort to 
your own heart. 

Youth and health may rejoice in frost and snow, 
and while the warm blood rushes through the exulting 
frame, we can smile at the wintry blast ; but age, sick- 
ness, and infirmity, can take no exercise sufncient to 
quicken the sluggish current of their veins. Wrap 
them round, then, with your charity ; help them to ob- 
tain a pair of warm blankets, and the blessing of the 
widow and the fatherless, the aged and infirm, the des- 
titute, and those ready to perish, shall rest upon you. 



ON GOOD LIVING. 



Most people are fond of good living, and no doubt 
you are fond of it too ; but let me ask what you call 
good living ? For if you have fallen into the common 
mistake that eating immoderately of dainty food, and 
drinking freely of intoxicating liquors, if you really 
think that these things constitute good living, we by 
no means agree ; for such a course is the worst living 
in the world. The best living must be that vi^hich is 
most conducive to health ; for without health, all other 
temporal blessings are in vain. 

You would consider him to be not over wise, who 
would try to make one arm strong, and leave the other 



A SMOKY CHIMNEY. 53 

weak ; to render one foot swift, and leave the other 
slow ; to brighten the sight of one eye, and leave the 
other dim ; but did you ever consider that he must be 
still more unwise, who endeavours to establish the 
health of his body, and altogether neglects the health 
of his soul ? If bread to eat, water to drink, and 
clothing to wear, be necessary for the health of the 
body, the bread of eternal life, the living waters of sal- 
vation, and the robe of the Saviour's righteousness, are 
equally necessary to the health of the soul. 

Bear this in mind, for that only which tends to the 
health of the body and soul, can truly be called good 
living. 

" I am the bread of life, which came down from 
heaven," says Christ, "he that eateth of this bread 
shall live for ever," John vi. 48, 58. " If thou knew- 
est the gift of God, and who it is that saith to thee, 
Give me to drink ; thou wouldest have asked of him, 
and he would have given thee living water," John iv. 
10. " And white robes were given unto every one of 
them," Rev. vi. 11. 



STORY OF 
A SMOKY CHIMNEY. 



My friends, I will tell you a story. 
Able Grave was a hard-working man, and his wife 
was a decent woman, and each was disposed to add 

5* 



54 A SMOKY CHIMNEY. 

to the comfort of the other ; but, though they did all 
they could, they had a sad enemy to their peace, which 
often disturbed them. This enemy was a smoky 
chimney, which so continually annoyed them, that 
they were frequently as peevish as though they had a 
delight in provoking each other. When Abel came 
home at night, and would have enjoyed his meal in a 
clean house, and by a bright fire, he had to listen a full 
hour to the complaints of his wife, who declared that 
to sit in such a smoke as she did, all day long, was 
unbearable. Abel thought it bad enough to endure the 
smoky chimney, but to bear, at the same time, a scold- 
ing from his wife, for that which he knew not how to 
avoid, troubled him sadly, and many a half-hour did 
he sit brooding over his troubles, contriving how he 
should cure his smoky chimney. 

One night when the smoke was making its way in 
every direction, except up the chimney, and Abel was 
puzzling his brains, and trying to hit upon some plan 
to lessen the evil, a neighbour of his, a slater, popped 
his head in at the door. " Abel," said he, " you are in 
a pretty smother ; and so you are likely to be, until 
you place a slate or two at the top of your chimney, 
to prevent the wind from blowing down." 

When his neighbour was gone, Abel Grave deter- 
mined that, on the morrow, he would do as he had 
been advised, and put some slates on the top of his 
chimney. 

By the time he had made this Resolution, another 
neighbour, a glazier, made his appearance. " Master 
Grave," said he, " why your chimney gets worse and 



A SMOKY CHIMNEY. 55 

worse. I tell you what, you may try a hundred 
schemes, but none of them will do till you put a whirl- 
igig in your window. That is what you want, and you 
will have no peace till you get one." 

Away went the neighbour, and Abel began to think 
about having a whirligig in his window ; but was a 
little puzzled whether to try the whirligig or the slates. 

" Hallo ! Abel," shouted a third neighbour, a brick- 
layer who was passing by, " here's a pretty smother ! 
I suppose you mean to smoke us all out." 

" No, no !" said Abel, " I am tormented too much 
with the smoke myself, to wish to torment any body 
•else with it ; nobody knows what a trouble it is to me." 

" Why, now," replied his neighbour, " if you will 
only brick up your chimney a little closer, it will be 
cured directly. I was plagued just in the same man- 
ner, but a few bricks put all to rights, and now, I have 
no trouble with my chimney at all." 

This account set Abel Grave a wool-gathering once 
more, and whether to put slates at the top, to brick up 
closer the bottom of the chimney, or to have a whirli- 
gig in the window, he did not know. 

He mused on the matter before he went to bed, woke 
two or three times in the night, and pondered it over, 
yet, when he got up in the morning, he was as little 
decided as ever. 

Just as he was about to set off to his work, old 
Abraham Ireland came by. Now, Abraham had the 
character of being a shrewd, sensible old man, which 
character he well deserved, so that he was often con- 
sulted in difficult cases. 



56 A SMOKY CHIMNEY. 

Abel, as soon as he saw him, asked him to step in 
for a moment, which he willingly did. " I want your 
advice," said he, " about my chimney, for it is the 
plague of my very life, it smokes so sadly." 

" What have you done to it ?" inquired old Abra- 
ham. 

" Why as to that," replied Abel, " I have done no- 
thing at all but fret about it, for this neighbour tells me 
to do one thing, and that neighbour tells me to do an- 
other. The slater says, ' Stick some slates at the top ; 
the glazier advises me to have a whirligig in the win- 
dow ; and the bricklayer says nothing will do but 
bricking up the chimney closer ; and so, among so 
many different opinions, I am more puzzled about it 
than ever." 

" There may be some sense in what they all say," 
said Abraham, pondering the matter over, " and if I 
found it necessary, I would take the advice of all 
three. Suppose," said he, " you tried that first which 
is the easiest to do ; put a slate or two at the top, and 
if that will not do, have a whirligig in the window, 
and if both of them will not cure the smoke, why, 
then, brick up the chimney a little closer. The next 
best thing to that of knowing what will cure a smoky 
chimney is, to know what will not cure it, and you are 
sure to find out one or the other." 

No sooner was old Abraham gone, than Abel went 
in search of a slater, who, in an hour's time, had'*put 
the slates on the chimney-top. When Abel returned 
from his work at night, his wife told him that the 
house had not smoked quite so bad as it did before, 



A SMOKY CHIMNEY. 67 

but that, still, it was not fit for any human creature to 
live in. 

Next morning Abel went to the glazier, who, in the 
course of the day, put a ventilator in the window, which 
many people called a whirligig. This mended the 
matter surprisingly. Abel was pleased to find so much 
improvement, but as the smoke still did not go right up 
the chimney, he set ofif to the bricklayer, who, the fol- 
lowing morning, bricked up the chimney a little 
closer, to make the draught quicker ; so that when 
Abel once more returned home, he found a clean 
hearth, a bright fire, a good-tempered wife, and a house 
as little troubled with smoke as any house in the pa- 
rish. 

" Well, Abel," said old Abraham Ireland, who had 
called to know how the improvements were going on, 
" you and your wife are able to see one another now." 

Abel told him what he had done, and that his chim- 
ney was quite cured. 

" I am right glad of it," replied Abraham, very 
heartily ; " and the next time you get into a difficulty, 
instead of wasting your time in fretting over it, and 
snarling with your wife, listen to the advice of others, 
weigh it in your mind, think on the most likely means 
to get rid of your trouble, and proceed directly to put 
it in practice ; for this plan will cure a thousand trou- 
bles, quite as well as it will cure a smoky chimney." 

There- 1 have told you my story, and I hope you will 
reap from it some advantage. It is a good thing to 
take advice from a prudent man, for he may assist us 
in escaping from a present difficulty ; but it is a better 



58 A SUITABLE TEXT. TO THE READER. 

thing to take advice from a heavenly Counsellor, for he 
can guide us by his counsel, and bring us to his glory. 



A SUITABLE TEXT. 



Do you like sunshine ? Do you love to see the 
heavens and the earth glittering around you ? Do you 
desire to be defended from danger, and protected from 
every evil, temporal and spiritual ? Are you a sinner, 
and does your soul yearn for forgiveness and mercy ? 
Is this world dark and dreary, and is the world to come 
the object of your constant desires ? Turn to the 
Lord, your righteousness and strength, and see what a 
comforting text he has provided for your especial case. 
"The Lord God is a sun and shield; the Lord will 
give grace and glory ; no good thing will he withhold 
from them that walk uprightly," Psal. Ixxxiv. IL 



TO THE READER. 



What a number of books are now abroad in the 
world ! New works spring up like mushrooms, so that 
if we made reading the business of our lives, we could 
read but a small part of the books which are printed. 
What a library would that be which should contam 
them ! Folios, quartos, duodecimos, magazines, tracts, 



TO THE READER. 59 

and children's books appear endless ; yet monlh after 
month, week after week, and day after day, something 
new is added to the number. A book appears to be a 
sort of seed, which goes on producing others of the 
same kind, so that the more books there are, the more 
are there likely to be. 

In such a reading age, it may not be amiss to make 
a few inquiries. 

Do you read ? I do not mean, can you read 1 or do 
you occasionally read ? If so, whether the hours of 
your leisure be few or many ; whether your object be 
to instruct your head, or reform your heart, you have 
a choice of books sufficiently extensive. Histories, 
travels, arts and sciences, law, physic, and divinity 
without end. You may weary yourself in wading 
through prose and poetry ; you may smile over the 
light productions of fancy, and knit your brow while 
pondering the weighty arguments of graver writers. 
There are books to suit all dispositions ; every kind 
of mental appetite is abundantly provided for ; the ta- 
ble is spread, and the feast is ready ; before you sit 
down, however, let me ask you a few questions. 

When do you read ? This is a more important 
question than at first sight it may appear to be ; for, if 
you read when you have duties to perform, you read 
when you ought not to read. He who purchases 
amusement, or even knowledge itself, at the expense 
of duty, will have reason to regret his having been a 
reader. If you read in bed, with a lighted taper 
beside you, you are endangering not only your own 
safety, but that of all around you ; better keep your 



60 TO THE READER. 

book shut all your days, than be burnt to death in your 
own bed-clothes. If you sit up later at night to read 
than your health can endure, you are reading at the ex- 
pense of your life, for he who habitually and reckless- 
ly sits up late, " not only lights the candle of life at 
both ends, but runs a red-hot poker through the middle 
of it." Do you not see now, that the question, " When 
do you read V is a very necessary one to be put to 
3^ou ? but we will go on to another, and that is — 

How do you read ? For a bad method of reading 
very often renders the habit of reading worse than 
useless. If you read carelessly, not giving yourself 
time to understand the meaning of the words before 
you ; or if understanding them, you read without re- 
flection, your reading will yield you but little profits 
If you read credulously, believing every thing that is 
printed, you may be led into many absurdities ; and if 
you read sceptically, doubting, and disposed to disbe- 
lieve every sentence in your book, you will rob your- 
self of much knowledge, wisdom, and consolation. 
To read profitably, you must read with care and reflec- 
tion ; care will enable you to comprehend your author^ 
reflection, to turn his observations to the best advan- 
tage. But now comes the question — 

What do you read ? Some read fairy tales and ro- 
mances, so that enchanters, and monsters, and dwarfs, 
and giants, and brazen castles, and black forests, and 
dark dungeons, and captive ladies, and knights clad in 
armour, are for ever flitting before them. Some read 
antiquities, and think much more of what took place 
a thousand years past, than they do of what is taking 



TO THE READER. 61 

place now, or of what will take place a thousand 
years to come. Some read nothing but newspapers ; 
ardent after novelty, they must know every day, ay, 
twice a day, about all that has taken place in the wide 
world, from the bursting forth of a volcano in the east, 
to the invention of a lucifer match in the west ; but 
the question is not what they read, but, " What do you 
read ?" and a very important question it is. 

The pleasure we enjoyed yesterday, is of little use 
to us to-day, and that of to-day will not benefit us 
much to-morrov^ ; therefore profit, not pleasure, should 
be the main object of our reading. 

But do you think that profit can be obtained from 
foolish books ? You can hardly think so. The good 
you will derive from them will indeed go into a small 
compass. " Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs 
of thistles ?" Matt. vii. 16. If you look for honey in 
an ant's nest, or for money in a pauper's purse, 5'^ou 
will not be hkely to find it, but still you will be acting 
quite as wisely as to expect by reading foolish books 
to make yourselves more wise and happy. 

Amusing books should be read very sparingly, and 
not as many read them, to pass away time. Pass 
away time ! Why what should you think of the man 
who would take up a pleasant story-book to pass away 
time when a fearful monster was fast approaching to 
destroy him ; or of him, who, when the tide of the 
roaring sea was gathering around him, kept musing 
over a jest book to pass away time ? Would you not 
say, " Friend, flee for your life ! There is no time to 
spare ?" Death is more inexorable than the fiercest 



62 TO THE READER. 

monster! Eternity is more overwhelming than the 
roaring tide ! 

Read, then, the works of the wise and good among 
men, but especially ponder over the word of God ! 
Let no sun rise and set, without throwing its light on 
your opened Bible. No, nor without that blessed book 
throwing its light upon you. But — 

Why do you read? For if you have no object in 
reading, no object is likely to be attained by reading. 
All the books in the world, read one after another, 
without care, reflection, and design, would do you but 
little good. It is not the mere counting of money 
that makes a man rich ; he must make it his own be- 
fore it adds to his store. It is not pronouncing wise 
words that renders a man wise, he must understand 
and practise them before he derives any advantage. 
The object of our reading should be to become wiser 
and better ; or, in other words, to know and to do 
the will of God. " Wisdom is the principal thing ; 
therefore get wisdom : and with all thy getting get un- 
derstanding," Prov. iv. 7. 

Think of a man going a journey without making up 
his mind where he shall go ; or, of a ship setting sail 
without directing her course to any port ! The travel- 
ler and the ship are both like the reader whose eye is 
fixed on no object, and whose heart desires no im- 
provement. 

And now comes my last question : Has your reading 
been of any service to you 1 Have you read the word 
of man with profit, and the word of God with thanli- 



TO THE READER. 63 

fulness and joy ? for if you have not done so, some- 
thinor must be wrons:, something must be out of order. 

Perhaps you have not read sufficiently, according to 
your opportunities of information. You may have at- 
tended to other pursuits, and neglected reading. Per- 
haps you have read at an improper time, when your 
drowsiness, your hurry, or the confusion around you, 
may have rendered your reading useless. Perhaps you 
have formed bad habits in reading, neither attending 
much to the words, nor reflecting much on their mean- 
ing. Perhaps 3''ou have read silly and worthless books, 
which, containing nothing but folly, were not likely to 
impart any wisdom. Or, perhaps you have read with- 
out an object, caring little what your books contained, 
and still less about what effect they might produce on 
3'our mind. 

In any of these cases, it is not remarkable that you 
should not have been much benefited by your reading. 
Now, read over these remarks with consideration. 
The ability to read is a great advantage ; to have the 
words of the wise before us is a great blessings : but 
to possess the word of God is an unspeakable mercy. 
Let us then be readers, adopting good habits, and seek- 
ing proper objects, that we may become wise. Espe- 
ciall}'' let us remember that we are responsible to God 
for the opportunities of reading he has given us, and 
that we should continually seek his blessing on the 
books we read. 

" Happy is the man that findeth wisdom, and the 
man that getteth understanding. For the merchandise 
of it is better than the merchandise of silver, and the 



64 ON BEGGING, BORROWING, AND STEALING. 

gain thereof than fine gold. She is more precious 
than rubies : and all the things thou canst desire are 
not to be compared unto her. Length of days is in 
her right hand ; and in her left hand riches and honour. 
Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths 
are peace," Prov. iii — 17. 



ON BEGGING, 
BORROWING, AND STEALING. 

Though begging is a bad trade, and a beggar by 
profession, at best, is but an unworthy example, yet 
there are times when a-begging I must go. 

Do not imagine that I tie up one of my legs, and 
hobble along on crutches, as some beggars do ; or, that 
buttoning myself in a blue jacket, I pass myself off 
for a one-armed sailor. No ! no ! I do neither the 
one nor the other, not even so much as slinging a wal- 
let over my shoulder ; and yet, as I said before, often 
and often do I go a-begging. Let me advise you to 
do the same. 

If, by accident or design, you have injured or wrong- 
ed any of your fellow-sinners, be not ashamed to beg 
their forbearance and forgiveness. If you have the 
opportunity of doing good, beg of the abundance of 
the rich to relieve the necessities of the poor ; and 
when kneeling at a throne of mercy, beg humbly and 
heartily for God's grace and every Christian affection, 



ON BEGGING, BORROWING, AND STEALING. 65 

that you may live to increase the comfort of all around 
you, and the glory of the Redeemer. 

I cannot get on at all without borrowing, and though 
in money matters there is no gainsaying the truth, 
" He who goes a-borrowing goes a-sorrowing ;" yet 
it is not exactly the same in all other cases. 

I find that the more I borrow of some things, and 
the more I owe, the richer I get ; so much so, that if 
I had borrowed more largely than I have done, during 
my life, I should now be abundantly better qualified to 
write for your edification. 

Whenever I meet with a striking thought on any 
subject better than my own, — and if it be not better it 
must be bad enough, — whenever I fall in with a valu- 
able thought, I invariably borrow it, and make as good 
use of it as I can. Not that I wish to show off in the 
gifts of another, like the jackdaw decked with pea- 
cock plumes, but that 1 am more anxious to be a use- 
ful letter-carrier than a useless letter-writer. 

If I cannot play " the first fiddle" in a good cause, 
I am very willing to play the second ; and if I have 
no edifying remarks of my own to bring forward, I am 
anxious to lay before you some that 1 have borrowed 
from my neighbours. 

But if you have thought it at all strange that I should 
beg and borrow, what will you say when you know 
that I now and then steal, or try to take away from 
others what is their own and not mine ? Though I 
pick no man's pocket, and filch away no man's purse, 
yet I do try to deprive many of their bad habits and 
propensities. I try to take from them against their 

6* 



66 ON OCCUPATION. 

own consent, that which they too dearly prize. I take 
away, without permission, when I can, one man's folly 
and pride, and another man's bitterness and infidelity. 
I would not willingly have the things I steal found in 
my possession, for they would do me more mischief 
than good : but I would, if I could, deprive old and 
young, simple and sage, friends and enemies, of every 
evil thought, and word, and deed. 



ON OCCUPATION. 

If you were to ask me, What tends most to mitigate 
€arthly sorrow, with the exception of the comfort de- 
rived from Div'ine things? I should unhesitatingly 
reply, Occupation. 

Yes ! occupation cures one half of life's troubles, 
and mitigates the remainder. Of whatever kind they 
may happen to be, troubles always appear great, and 
•our own cares, in our own estimation, are invariably 
greater than those of our neighbours ; but whether we 
arc afflicted in mind, body, or estate, occupation is 
the best prescription we can take. 

Suppose you have had a loss, say it is five silver 
shillings, or as many golden sovereigns ; nay, let it be 
if you like a hundred pounds, or a thousand, for it is 
not the amount of our losses that weighs down our 
spirits, but our real or fancied incapability to bear them 
— suppose you have had a loss, I say, why all the 
sighing and the sorrowing, the moaning and repining, 



ON OCCUPATION. 67 

in the world, will not bring back a single sixpence of 
your money again, though it may disqualify you for 
making an attempt to recover your loss. You may 
get friends to condole with you, and make your loss 
greater by losing your time in brooding over it, but oc- 
cupation is the only thing to relieve you. It is the 
most likely of any thing to make up your money again, 
and if it do not that, it will engage your mind as well 
as your fingers, and keep you from despondency. 

Suppose your body is axHicted ; will sitting or lying 
down, doing nothing, with ycur dejected eyes fixed on 
the wall — will this, I say, pull out a thorn from your 
finger, or assuage the pain of an aching tooth, or cure 
a fit of the gout ? Not a bit of it. So long as pain 
does not deprive you of the power of occupying your- 
self, occupation will be for you the best thing in the 
world. Let it be suii^sJ to your condition, and perse- 
vered in with prudence. A weak body cannot lift a 
heavy burden, nor a confused head think clearly ; but 
do something, whether it be much or little, hard or 
easy, so long as you can write a letter, wind a ball of 
cotton, make a spill, read a book, or listen while ano- 
ther reads it to you, so long as you can do any of 
these things, by doing them you will be mitigating 
jour affliction. 

In like manner, if your mind be wounded, apply the 
same remedy. If your enemy has injured, or your 
friend deceived you ; if your brightest hopes have been 
clouded, or your reputation blackened, pray for your 
enemies, and then, up and be doing ! Better gather 
field-flowers, plat rushes, weed the garden, or black 



68 ON OCCUPATION. 

your own shoes, than be idle. Occupation will raise 
your spirit, while idleness will bring it down to the 
dust. Occupation will blunt the edge of the sharpest 
grief, keep the body in health, and preserve the mind 
in comparative peace. 

He that is in trouble, must do something to get rid 
of it. 

I have known many a man get to the top of a moun- 
tain by resolutely clambering up its rugged sides, who 
would never have got there at all, by sitting down and 
fretting at the bottom of it. And, many a hardy swim- 
mer has crossed a rapid river, by sturdily buffeting its 
rushing waters, who never could have achieved such 
an adventure, by despondingly allowing himself to be 
carried along by the current : something must be done, 
and done by yourself too, when you are in trouble ; or 
otherwise, it will stick as close to you as the skin that 
covers you. If I had not been a man of occupation, 
my heart would have been broken long ago. I never 
could have stood up under the load of troubles and tri- 
als, — not more than I have deserved, — that God, in 
mercy, has given me strength to sustain. Old Hum- 
phrey is always occupied ; his tongue, his hands, his 
head, or his heels, are in continual requisition ; and, 
rather than sit down, and do nothing, he would will- 
ingly break stones on the highway, or make brimstone 
matches, and hawk them about from door to door. 

Time flies rapidly with those who have more to do 
in the day than they can accomplish ; and drags along 
as heavily with all who have no employment to occupy 
their hours. Occupation is the great secret of cheer- 



ON OCCUPATION. 69 

ful days and tranquil nights ; for he that is well em- 
ployed while the sun is in the skies, will most likely 
sleep soundly when the stars are shining above him. 

The moment you feel yourself getting moody and 
miserable, seek Divine support by prayer, and then set 
3'ourself a task immediately ; something that will oc- 
casion you to exert yourself, and you will be surprised 
at the relief it will afford j'ou. 

Though Old Humphrey advises you to do something 
of a trifling nature, rather than be idle, he is no advo- 
cate for trifling. So long as this world endures, there 
will always be employment enough and to spare, for 
all those who either wish to guide others to heaven, or 
to get there themselves. If you cannot employ your 
body, employ your mind, for there is a time to employ 
it profitably ; 

A time to reflect on our words and ways 
A time to pray, and a time to praise. 

And especially employ yourself in doing good, and 
mitigating the sorrows of others ; while taking a thorn 
from the bosom of another, you will lose that which 
rankles in your own. 

Thousands, who know how much comfort occupa- 
tion gives, do not know how much distress and unea- 
siness it keeps away. Show me two men, who have 
equal adv^antages, — one of them idle, and the other 
fully occupied, and I will venture to pronounce the 
latter ten times happier than the former. Care is a 
sad disease ; despondency a sadder ; and discontent, 
perhaps, the saddest of the three ; but, if you wish to 



70 ON TIME. 



be cured of all these together, next to seeking Divine 
support, my prescription is — Occupation. 



ON TIME. 

My tale is plain, but pithy ; give it a moment's con- 
sideration. 

When I was a lad, my father one day called me to 
him, that he might teach me how to know what o'clock 
it was. He told me the use of the minute finger, and 
the hour hand, and described to me the figures on the 
dial-plate, until I was pretty perfect in my part. 

No sooner was I quite master of this additional 
knowledge, than I set off scampering to join my com- 
panions, at a game of ring-taw ; but my father called 
me back again : — " Stop, Humphrey," said he, " I 
have something else to say to you." 

Back again 1 went, wondering what else I had got 
to learn, for I thought that 1 knew all about the clock, 
quite as well as my father did. 

" Humphrey," said he, " I have taught you to know 
the time of the day, I must now teach you how to find 
out the time of your life." 

All this was Dutch to me ; so I waited rather impa- 
tiently to hear how my father would explain it, for 1 
wanted sadly to go to my marbles. 

" The Bible," said he, " describes the years of man 
to be threescore and ten, or fourscore years. Now, 
life is very uncertain, and you may not live a single 



ON TIME. 71 

day longer ; but if we divide the fourscore years of 
an old man's life into twelve parts, like the dial of the 
clock, it will allow almost seven years for every figure. 
When a boy is seven years old, then, it is one o'clock 
of his life, and this is the case with you ; when you 
arrive at fourteen years, it will be two o'clock with 
you ; and when at twenty-one years, it will be three 
o'clock, should it please God thus to spare your life. 
In this manner you may always know the time of your 
life, and your looking at the clock, may, perhaps, re- 
mind you of it. My great grandfather, according to 
this calculation, died at twelve o'clock ; my grandfa- 
ther at eleven, and my father at ten. At what hour 
you and I shall die, Humphrey, is only known to Him 
to whom all things are known." 

Never since then have I heard the inquiry, " What 
o'clock is it?" nor do I think that I have even looked 
at the face of a clock, without being remindtd of the 
words of my father. 

1 know not, my friends, what o'clock it may be with 
you, but I know very well what time it is with myself; 
and that if I mean to do any thing in this world which, 
hitherto, I have neglected, it is high time to set about 
it. The words of my father have given a solemnity 
to the dial-plate of a clock, which it never would per- 
haps have possessed in my estimation, if these words 
had not been spoken. Look about you, my friends, I 
earnestly entreat you, and now and then ask your- 
selves what o'clock it is with you. 



72 ON FAIR-WEATHER CHRISTIANS. 

ON 
FAIR-WEATHER CHRISTIANS. 

If 3^011 are among the lowly disciples of Him who 
suffered on Calvary, and if, on ihe sabbath day, you go 
gladly to meet him in his house, drawn there by a 
sense of your own unworthiaess, and of his unspeak- 
able mercy and grace ; if, as a pardoned sinner, or as 
a sinner seeking pardon and salvation, you go there, 
my present remarks will have little to do with you. 
To God's house you will go, if health permit, hail, 
rain, or sunshine. It is a pleasure, a high and a holy 
privilege to go, and it is a punishment to stay away. 

But if you go there to show off your fine clothes, to 
pacify your conscience, to get a name for piety, or for 
any other purpose than that of offering up the sacrifi- 
ces of praise, and getting good to your own soul, or 
the souls of others, why, then, a word with you, and 
it shall be but a short one. 

Are " the means of grace, and the hope of glory," 
such trifling things that you will let a shadowy cloud, 
or a summer shower, rob you of them? The time 
may come when you may rave, and tear your hair for 
the golden opportunities thus neglected. To he rob- 
bed of them by others would be bad enough, but to rob 
yourself of them is much worse. Turn this over in 
your mind. 

If some enemy of your body and soul, your earthly 
comforts and heavenly hopes, were to shut the door 



ON FAIR-WEATHER CHRISTIANS. 73 

of God's house against you, would you not take it to 
heart, as a hard case ? Would you not fret and fume, 
and talk about your rights, and insist upon it, that no 
one should prevent you from attending Divine wor- 
ship ? I fear you would. Think the matter over 
within yourself. 

God has promised to be in the midst of his people 
gathering themselves together in his name. Is it 
right, then, when his house is open, and perhaps his 
table spread, on the sabbath day, to refuse to meet him ? 
Have a care ! What if he should refuse to meet you ! 
Did you ever look at the thing in this light? A little 
reflection upon it will not hurt you. 

It is unkind to God's ministers to weaken their hands, 
and depress their hearts, by staying at home on the 
sabbath. It is unkind to your neighbours to set them 
so bad an example ; and it is still more unkind to act 
such an unworthy part to your own soul. Take it in- 
to consideration. 

A worthy friend of mine, a minister of the ever- 
blessed gospel of peace, once reproved a few of his 
careless hearers, by penning down the following 
lines : — 

•' As butterflies with gaudy wings, 

Dis;)lay themselves on sunny days, 
So summer saints, more gaudy things, 

Will seek God's house to pray and praise. 

"But if a mist bedew the ground, 

Or e'en a cloud obscure the skies, 
These painted saints are weather-bound, 

And keep at home like butterflies." 

Though our sins are without number, our lives are 

7 



fi CHEER UP ! PILGRIM. 

short, and our sabbaths few. There is but one way of 
salvation, even Jesus Christ, who is " The vvay, the 
truth, and the life." We have the promise if we seek 
that way, we shall find it ; that if we knock at mer- 
cy's door, it will be opened to us. If thou art not a 
seeker, hope not to be a finder. If thou knockest not 
at the door, hope not to have it opened unto thee. 

Let these points be thought over in as kindly a 
spirit as that in which I lay them before you. 

Sabbaths are costly things ; fling them not away. 
You may judge of your state pretty well, by asking 
yourself this question. How do I value the sabbath 
day? 

If heaven above contains no charm for thee, 
The day of sacred rest no rest will be ; 
But if thy hope, thy heart, thy soul be there, 
The sabbath is a day thou canst not spare. 



CHEER UP ! PILGRIM. 

What, pilgrim ! art thou faint and weary in the 
way to Zion ? Is thy burden heavier than thou canst 
bear? Well then, "Cast thy burden upon the Lord, 
and he shall sustain thee : he shall never sufler the 
righteous to be moved," Psa. Iv. 22. 

Is the stormy wind and tempest abroad, and seest 
thou no place of shelter ? God is thy refuge. Does 
thy vigour fail thee, and dost thou faint for very feeble- 
ness ? God is thy strength. Do afflictions gird thee 
round as a garment, and is no friend at hand to aid 



TO A BEREAVED FRIEND. 75 

thee ? " God is a very present help in trouble," Psa. 
xlvi. 1. 

Be of good courage, and hold thee on thy way. Is 
the brook, the river tliou hast to cross, deep and rapid ? 
Do thy fiery trials burst into a conflagration ? Cheer 
np ! wayfaring pilgrim, and listen to the voice of thy 
Lord. " When thou passest through the waters, I 
will be with thee ; and rhrongh the rivers, they shall 
not overflow thee; when thou walkest through the 
fire, thou shalt not be burned ; neither shall the flame 
kindle upon thee. For I am the Lord thy God, the 
Holy One of Israel thy Saviour," Isa. xliii. 2, 3. 



TO 
A BEREAVED FRIEND. 

My afflicted Friend, 

I hear that it has pleased God, in his mysterious 
mercy, to take away from the world, or rather to take 
unto himself, one that was very dear to you. You 
were bound together in bonds of affection as strong 
as links of steel ; and taking her from you, was like 
dividing the joints, yea, separating the body and the 
soul. 

I am not going to afflict you by taking the matter 
calmly— to tell you not to grieve, and to recommend 
you to be reconciled to your affliction, for I might as 
well recommend you to make yourself wings, and to 



76 TO A BEREAVED FRIEND. 

fly away ; the one thing is as impossible as the other. 
No ! I am more inclined to grieve with you ; to clothe 
my spirit in sackcloth and ashes ; to seat myself be- 
side you in the dust of humiliation, and to mourn the 
loss you have sustained. 

Yours has been a heavy trial : the furnace has been 
very hot, and the fire exceedingly fierce. She whom 
you have lost had long been your companion, for you 
knew her in the days of your childhood. You loved 
Jher, and not without reason ; she was the wife of your 
youth, the beloved companion of your mature manhood, 
and the prudent director of your domestic affairs. She 
was also a fellow-pilgrim to a better land ; a lowly 
follower of the Redeemer, and, as I humbly believe, 
one of those whom he redeemed, sanctified, and has 
now olorified. 

You were alarmed at her sickness, even when you 
could not believe it would not be unto death. You 
watched, and wept, and prayed over her ; and when 
it pleased God to speak more openly his intentions 
concerning her, your afflictions rebelled against his 
righteous decree. The hollow cheek, the sunken 
eye, the sharpened features, came upon you, agonizing 
your heart, and the feeble and fluttering pulse, the 
filmy and glazed eye-ball, the failing breath, and all 
the humiliating attendants of dissolution, almost over- 
whelmed you. 1 know something about these things, 
and therefore I know you have much to endure. 

And since then, your heart-strings have been wrung 
in committing her body to the grave, and you have 
found the world a wilderness, and yourself a desolate 



TO A BEREAVED FRIEND. 77 

and broken-hearted mourner. I am grieved for you, 
for your trouble is no common trouble ; nor am 1 much 
surprised, though somewhat distressed, that you have 
hitherto almost refused to be comforted. It is a hard 
matter to bless a joy-taking, as well as a joy-giving 
God. This is a lesson that we can only learn from a 
heavenly Instructor. 

You have lost for ever, as far as this world is con- 
cerned, your best earthly friend, your dearest earthly 
treasure, the light of your eyes, the desire of your 
heart, how then can you feel other than desolate ? I 
could mourn for you in the bitterness of my spirit. 

But now, having gone with you, in considering what 
you have lost, I hope you will go with me, in consider- 
ing what you have not lost. There is a shiny as well 
as a shadowy side even to affliction, and yours may 
not be without consolation. 

First, let us ask from whom you have received this 
bitter stroke. Hath an enemy done this ? Oh no ; 
but the best, the kindest of friends. He who is 
" merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and plenteous 
in mercy. Like as a father pitieth his children, 
so the Lord pitieth them that fear him," Psalm ciii, 
8, 13. 

Why this seems to go to the root of the matter ; 
for if a friend hath doae it, it must have been done 
with a friendly intention — there is consolation in tho 
very thought. 

Again, though this stroke has brought earthly sor- 
row upon you, it has given h'^avenly joy to her whose 
loss you deplore, for you have good reason to believe 



78 TO A BEREAVED FRIEND. 

that she lived and " died in the Lord." What a source 
of comfort is this ! What a cordial to enable you to 
endure hardness as a faithful soldier of Christ ; to 
think that when you are tried, she is at peace : when 
you are in danger, she is secure ; when you are sor- 
rowing, she is rejoicing! There seems to be conso- 
lation upon consolation. 

Nor ought we to forget how soon we shall again be 
united to our friends in glory. The season may be 
very short. If the separation were an eternal one, it 
would indeed be dreadful ; but no, it is not so ; and if 
I may, without being irreverent, venture the remark, 
the departure of our friends for glory, not only severs 
one of the ties which bind us to the world, but gives 
an added charm to heaven. 

Let us for matcliless mercy Christ adore, 

They are not lost, but only gone before ! 

With glittering crowns, and golden harps they stand, 

To bid us welcome to that heavenly land. 

It may be that this trial was necessary ; it may be 
medicine, prescribed by the Great Physician, for the 
health of your immortal soul ; nor is this an unreason- 
able supposition. 

For oftentimes, with erring heart, 

We need affliction's rod, 
To drive us from a sinful world 

And draw us near to God. 

Under God's guidance the light afHictions of his peo- 
ple work out for them " a far more exceeding and eter- 
nal weight of glory," 2 Cor. iv. 17. 

Now, do not you begin to see and to feel that this 
providence of God may be meant as a gracious gift, 



TO A BEREAVED FRIEND. 79 

as well as an afflictive dispensation ? It has been 
good for her who is in heaven, and it is likely to prove 
good to you are who following her there. Take my poor 
thoughts as prompted by affection, and bow to the will 
of God. 

On the whole, looking at this trial in all its bearings, 
it is mingled with much mercy. This, with our dim- 
sightedness, may be seen, and would be no doubt, much 
clearer, if our spiritual discernment were more perfect. 
As your sufferings abound, may your consolations in 
Jesus Christ abound also, and those all-sustaining 
promises be blessed to your soul, — " My grace is suf- 
ficient for thee," 2 Cor. xii. 9. " As thy days, so 
shall thy strength be," Deut. xxxiii. 25. 

I have written a long letter, and my remarks may 
not appear to you so kind as I intended them to be ; 
but my object has not been to offer comfort without 
pointing out the reasonableness of the consolation 
afforded. I feel my infirmity in attempting to comfort 
you. 

I sympathize heartily with you in your trouble, but 
when we speak of suffering, we should never lose 
sight of the sufferings of the Saviour. This will 
make your own afflictions light. When we enumer- 
ate our mercies also, the crowning mercy of the gift 
of Jesus Christ should be ever had in remembrance ; 
this should fill our mouths and our hearts with praise. 

Unsanctified sorrow is ever selfish ; it opens our 
eyes wide to our afflictions, and closes them to God's 
mercy and pitiful compassion. I humbly trust that 
your sorrow will not be of this sort, but that as your 



80 ON CHRISTMAS TIME. 

heavenly Father's goodness, and the healing hand of 
time, binds up your wounds, you will be led, step by 
step, to bow to the will of God ; to admire him for 
his faithfulness, and to thank, and bless, and praise 
him for his infinite compassion and love. He will do 
all that is right concerning us, for '* He that spared 
not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how 
shall he not with him also freely give us all things ?" 
Rom. viii. 32. Lift up your eyes to the hills whence 
cometh your help, for " Thy God whom thou servest 
continually, he will deliver thee," Dan. vi. 16. 

In the bonds of Christian love and aftectionate sym- 
pathy, 

I am, your friend, 

HUMPHREY. 



ON CHRISTMAS TIMES. 

" Whoso hath this world's good, and seeth his brother have need, and shut- 
teth up his boweJs of compassion from him, how dwelleth the love of God 
in him 1" 1 John iii. 17. 

Few things are more common among us, than to hear 
exulting expressions in praise of " good old Christmas." 
0].'---i-hearted hospitality and social mirth are com- 
mended in high terms, and " keeping up old times," 
is regarded as a virtue ; without considering, that, in 
too many cases, nothing more is meant by it than sel- 
j&sh b-vnqueting and intemperate indulgence. The 
Christmas of " Olden times" was distinguished by 



ON CHRISTMAS TIME. 81 

great attention to religious services, unsparing charity, 
and general hospitality. The latter was of a reckless 
character, as it is, too often, at the present day. The 
cry, however, in favour of keeping up Christmas, now, 
is principally confined to the convivial part of it ; the 
religious services and the charity are too often but 
secondary considerations. This remark is not made 
in a cynical, ill natured spirit, but rather with a view 
of calling forth the sympathies of the kind-hearted ; 
that while the severities of winter are pinching the 
ill-fed, ill-clad, and aged poor, the stream of benevo- 
lence may more freely flow, and the jubilee of'^Christ- 
mas be more generally enjoyed. 

Christmas is a time of hospitality, of joy and mer- 
riment to thousands whose wants are well supplied ; 
but often it is a time of anxiety and suffering to the 
poor. The fangs of penury and want pinch doubly 
hard in winter, and he, or she, who has but little fuel, 
a scanty supply of food, and whose body is barely 
covered, is entitled to our pity. 

Who can see the passing coaches, piled up, as they 
are, with packages, and heavy-laden with hampers, well 
stored with Christmas fare, without thinking to him- 
self, " How few of these will find their way to the 
dwelling-places of the poor !" In these things we 
give to those who have them, and withhold from those 
who have them not. Many a man is even now pre- 
paring to make a great supper : but it is not likely 
that one will be found anxious to compel the poor to 
come in, and partake of it. 

Consider for a moment, if you cannot give some- 



82 ON CHRISTMAS TIME. 

thing away at this season, in the shape of food, that 
will light up the rye of the deserving aged poor, make 
the fatherless clap his hands, and the heart of the 
widow to sing for joy. 

Look around you with a pitiful eye, and a merciful 
heart, and you will discern faces in abundance that 
proc'aim, too plainly, their acquaintance with penury 
and scanty fare. 

How often do I see at the butcher's shop, the 
threaJbare-coated, broken-down housekeeper, whose 
better days are passed, and the spendthrift, whose 
poverty has come upon him as an armed man ! How 
often do I see them linger wishfully, to look at the 
joint that they cannot buy ! 

The aged matron, too, still retaining a decency and 
respectability of which penury has not robbed her, 
comes and goes, and goes and comes again, handling 
the commonest piece of meat at the stall, and reckon- 
ing up in her mind v^^hat it will cost. See ! she 
weighs it in her hand apparently to the ounce, then 
hesitates, shakes her head mournfully, and walks 
away empty-handed. 

In the every-day pathways of life, instances of this 
kind occur, enough to make our hearts ache ; those 
who look for them will be sure to find them. It was 
but yesterday that a poor v^^eaver called upon me, who 
for some months past has been out of employ ; he has 
now got a little work, and he called for money to en- 
able him to buy a new shuttle and a pair of shears. 
Now, to such an old, inoffensive creature as he appears 
to be, it would delight me to give a pound. Do you 



ON CHRISTMAS TIME. 83 

not know such a man as this ? Come, come, look 
around you. 

The clock has not struck since, passing along the 
streets, my attention was drawn to a young chimney- 
sweep,— one of those poor, shivering wretches, who, 
on a winter's morning, creep along with a bag across 
their shoulders, and a brush under their arm, bending 
their knees as they walk, dragging along the ground, 
with their naked feet, shoes that would be too big for 
their grandfathers. 

You may tell me that young chimney-sweeps are 
hearty young rogues, as full of life and fun as an egg 
is full of meat ; and I often see such myself, but they 
are not all so. The one of whom I speak was not of 
this description. 

There stood the hungry, sharp-set, shivering climb- 
er, sometimes standing on one cold foot, and sometimes 
on the other, at the window^ of a cook-shop, whose 
prodigality poured forth a savoury steam, almost 
enough to provoke the full to eat another dinner. How 
the poor lad got so much money, I know not ; but he 
had evidently laid out a penny in pudding. It was 
too hot to hold, much less to bite with comfort ; but 
he contrived both to hold and to eat it, shifting it, 
quickly, from one hand to another. 

All this time his eager eye was fixed on the smok- 
ing pudding in the shop window, anticipating, no doubt, 
the sorrowful moment when his own morsel would 
have disappeared. You should have seen the expres- 
sion of his sore eyes, and his soot-begrimed face, when 
I gave him a penny for another pennyworth ? 1 would 



84 ON CHRISTMAS TIME. 

not part with the remembrance of that look of delight 
for a crown-piece. 

In the spirit of kind entreaty, let me ask, whether, 
in the midst of the visits you mean to pay this Christ- 
mas, you mean to visit any poor neighbour ? Whether, 
while partaking of the good cheer of others, you in- 
tend to supply the hungry with a single good dinner ? 

It was a custom with my grandfather to entertain 
twelve poor aged women at his table on Christmas 
day, with Christmas fare. After which, he handed to 
each of them a glass of wine, and a shilling, with an 
exhortation to a thankful remembrance of the good- 
ness of God. Well do I know, that 

" Those who on virtuous ancestors enlarge, 
Produce their debt instead of their discharge ;" 

and instead of being proud, as we too often are, of 
what others have done, we have reason to be humbled 
for what we ourselves have omitted. 

Let me give you one trait from the character of my 
mother, a personification of benevolence, especially at 
Christmas. In all appeals of a charitable nature, she 
acted under the influence of the moment. As the 
winding up of a watch sets the wheels in motion, so, 
at the recital of a tale of woe, her hand mechanically 
moved into her pocket. I well remember one veteran 
pensioner on her bounty replying, when taxed with 
having troubled her for twenty years. " No, no ! mad- 
am, indeed you make a mistake ; it is but fifteen." 

It is true that she did not fail to lecture those who 
appealed too frequently to her benevolence, but it was 
done in such a way, that any one, with half an eye, 



ON CHRISTMAS TIME. 85 

could see that it did not arise from the displeasure of 
her heart. The rebuke she offered with her tongue, 
was more then half drowned by the jingle of the 
money in her pocket, which she was preparing to be- 
stow. ' 

I know very well, that this is but a homely tale, but 
let its truth atone for its homeliness ; let the spirit of 
benevolence it exhibits, make amends for the language 
in which it is conveyed. I do not want you to give as 
my mother gave ; for she often, and inconsiderately, 
relieved the unworthy with the worthy ; the impostor 
with the real object of distress ; but I want you to im- 
itate my benevolent parent in this, that when a real 
case of distress is brought before you, you may not be 
a grumble without beinor a fumbler at the same time. 
Yes, fumble in your pockets, and be not too severe to 
mark the errors of the pale-faced, hollow-eyed suppli- 
ants for your bounty. 

There are many impostors abroad, taking the bread 
out of better mouths than their own. I am ashamed 
of them ; but I feel ashamed, also, of the lynx-eyed, 
keen, cutting shrewdness, which enables some, not 
only to detect imposture, but to see indiscretion much 
plainer than they see want and misery. Is it not bet- 
ter, think you, in a doubtful case, to be cheated of a 
penny, than to risk the possibility of withholding a 
penny roll from the hungry, when the cold, searching, 
freezinor wind is whistling through their ragged rai- 
ment ? Is it not laying out a half-crown well, to put 
a joint in the pot of a poor widow on a Christmas 
day, even if we do run some little risk of adding to 

8 



86 ON CHRISTMAS TIME. 

the comforts of one who may not be, in all respects, 
what we would have her be ? 

It would do us good, as well in regard to charity, 
as in regard to other things, more frequently to turn 
over the pages of sacred writ. " He that hath pity 
upon the poor, lendeth unto the Lord ; and that which 
he hath given will he pay again" — " Bear ye one an- 
other's burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ." And 
to remember that this precept is personal ; it is to our- 
selves. 

How enlarged was the hospitality and charity of 
former times ! How simple, how beautiful, how 
touching are the observations of Job! chap. xxxi. 16, 
17, 22, 32. I am afraid there are almost as few Jobs 
among us in regard to charity, as there are in respect 
of patience. 

Are there none in your neighbourhood struggling 
with adversity ? Do you know none who cannot dig, 
and who to beg would be ashamed, to whom a joint 
of meat would be a treasure ? No doubt you do ; and 
I could even now fancy that I see the messenger of 
your bounty setting off with a leg of pork, or a neck 
of mutton, or, it may be, a piece of beef, red as a 
cherry, with suet white as snow, wrapped up in a 
clean dish. I can see the unexpected boon received 
as a gift from above, with outstretched hands, an eye 
brightening with exultation, and a heart beating with 
thankfulness ; and I can hear distinctly the fervent 
blessing, that a voice, faltenng with grateful emotion, 
is imploring on your head. 

Be persuaded to make some one happy this Christ- 



A WARNING. 87 

mas, and you will be the happier yourself for the cha- 
ritable deed. Visit the poor ; go and see what their 
wants are ; judge for yourselves. 

By the mercies you have received from the Father 
of mercies ; by your expectation of future blessings ; 
and by your Christian profession, I entreat you to re- 
ceive and act on the admonition, *' He that oppresseth 
the poor reproacheth his Maker ; but he that honour- 
eth him, hath mercy on the poor." 



A WARNING. 

Yes ! tell me that I am homely, and abrupt, and 
rude in speech. I know it well, and why should 
it be otherwise ? Why should I not be abrupt, if I 
cannot, otherwise, secure your attention ? Is not the 
sun setting before your eyes, the ground crumbling 
from beneath your feet, and your latter end stealing 
upon you unawares 1 I will be abrupt enough to 
break my neighbour's slumber, if his house be on fire. 
I will be rude enough to seize him by the hair of his 
head, if I see him drowning. I will restrain, bind, 
and enchain him, if his hand be raised against his 
own life ; and why should I be silent, when a mightier 
voice than mine is needed as a warning ? 

To the young, I cry aloud. Is not the early bud of- 
ten nipped by the frost 1 to the mature, Are not the 
full-blown blossoms frequently scattered by the storm ? 



88 ON PRESENTS. 

to the aged, Does not the mere breeze shake the ripe 
fruit from the tree ? 

Art thou young ? Dost thou bloom as the rose 1 

Hast thou number'd the years of a mau ? 
Art thou aged in years and in woes 1 

Remember, thy life is a span ! 

I must, I will direct you to the clock of existence : 
the yearly pendulum has given another swing ; the 
youngest and the strongest have but fourscore strokes 
to come, and thousands have not one. The wheels 
of life are moving fast ; the weights of health and 
strength, with some of us, are almost down ; the fin- 
gers of time are pointing to futurity, and the voice of 
the Eternal will proclaim the hour of death. 

Happy those who are united to Christ ; for he holds 
in his hand the key of death ; he openeth and no man 
shutteth, he shutteth and no man openeth, Rev. i. 18 ; 
iii. 7. 



ON PRESENTS. 



It will save you many a penny, ay, and many a 
stinging reflection, too, if you will bear in mind, that of 
all dear things, those are the dearest which are given 
you for nothing. 

He who pays too high a price at market for his ar- 
ticles, or makes a bad bargain in business, and loses 
by it, or is cheated in a purchase he may happen to 
make, generally knows the worst of it, or the end of 



ON PRESENTS. 89 

it, at once ; but if you seek for favours, if you lie in 
wait for unnecessary kindnesses, you may never 
know the worst of it, nor the end of it, for years to 
come. Think not that Old Humphrey means to be 
proud ; he knows very well that all human beings are 
poor, weak, and unworthy creatures, not only con- 
stantly dependent on a God of grace and mercy, but 
more or less dependent, also, on the kind and Chris- 
tian offices of those around them ; but this is no rea- 
son why we should load ourselves with the intolera- 
ble burden of needless favours. That man is to be 
pitied who is too proud to accept the services of the 
poorest being on earth, when necessary ; but he is to 
be pitied more, who stoops to solicit obligations from 
the proudest, when he can do without them. 

Again, I say, those things are the dearest that are 
given us for nothing ; and I could give you twenty 
illustrations of the fact, but will content myself with 
narrating one. 

My aunt Barbara, from London, paid me a visit 
when I lived in the country ; and one day, after she 
had been talking for half an hour, about the beautiful 
cod-fish, and oysters, that were to be had for little or 
nothing at Billingsgate, I foolishly said, " If that be 
the case, you may as well send me a fish as not." In 
a little time after she returned home, a fish came by 
the coach, sure enough, and a barrel of oysters with 
it ; but, by some neglect or other, they were not de- 
livered so soon as they ought to have been ; the oys- 
ters were bad, but the cod-fish was good for nothing. 

8* 



90 ON PRESENTS. 

I paid three shillings and fourpence for the carriage, 
and gave two-pence to the porter. 

" Well," thought I, " another time if I want fish, I'll 
buy it, and not beg it, for one bought fish is worth 
two begged ones any day of the week." It was abso- 
lutely necessary to write a letter, and pay the postage 
too, to acknowledge the great kindness of my aunt 
Barbara ; but before my letter reached her, she had 
gone, for a few days, to a distant neighbourhood, thirty 
or forty miles from home, from which place she 
wrote me an unpaid letter, fidget as she was, full of 
fears and anxieties, lest I should not have received 
" a beautiful large cod-fish, and barrel of fine oysters," 
sent me by the coach, and requiring an answer by re- 
turn of post. Once more I sat down to thank m}' 
aunt for her oysters, and, once more, I paid the post- 
age of my letter, not a little ruffled in my temper. 

In the course of the day, a cousin of mine came to 
see me, having walked five miles to tell me of a letter 
she had received from my aunt, who had requested 
her to make immediate inquiry whether or not I had 
received some fish and oysters by the coach ? 

" Oysters !" said I, hastily ; " I am sick of oysters, 
and have already written two letters to thank my 
fidgetty aunt for them." 

Well, 1 had got into a scrape, and wanted sadly to 
get out of it again, for, thought I, if I remain under 
this obligation, every relation I have in the world will 
be told about it. 

The first opportunity I despatched very carefully, 
carriage paid, a good thumping sucking pig to my 



ON PRESENTS. 91 

aunt, as a return for her kindness, and felt as though 
a heavy weight had been taken from my shoulders. 
" Bad as the affair of the fish has been," thought I, 
" it is a good thing that it is all done with now." But 
I little knew my aunt Barbara ! 

Another unpaid letter from her, thanked me coldly 
for my pig, but added, " she thought I knew that she 
did not like pork ; a turkey would have suited her 
much better." Here was a pretty piece of business ! 
it seemed as though there was to be no end to those 
^unlucky oysters. 

I sent off a carriage-paid turkey to my aunt Barba- 
ra, in a sad unchristian spirit, for I could not help re- 
membering, that though she could not eat sucking-pig 
in London, she ate it heartily enough in the country. 
She never paid the postage of her letter, which ac- 
knowledged the receipt of it ; no, nor would she, had 
I sent her fifty turkeys. 

Some time after, when I thought the affair of the 
fish was dead and buried, 1 called in at my sister 
Sarah's. 

" So, Humphrey," said she, " you have had a fine 
catch of it ; my aunt tells me, in a letter just received 
from her, that she never remembers having seen so 
fine a cod-fish in her life, as that she sent to my 
brother, with a barrel of oysters." 

" And does she say anything about pigs, and tur- 
keys, and carriage, and postage of letters ?" said I, 
peevishly. " Here have I paid over and over again, 
for her present of good-for-nothing fish ; and yet must 
have it ding'd-dong'd in my ears continually." I was 



92 ON HUMILITY. 

sadly vexed at my aunt, and still more at myself for 
my folly. 

It was long before I again heard from my aunt Bar- 
bara ; when she did write, one line of her letter ran 
thus : — " How rapidly time flies ! do you remember 
that on this very day, twelve months ago, I sent you, 
by the coach, a fine large cod-fish and oysters ?" 

" Remember it !" thought I, " ay, that I do ; and if 
you never send me another till I ask you for it, it will 
be some time to come." 

Dearly have I paid for presents, and dearly will 
you pay for yours, if you needlessly put yourself in 
the way of receiving them. Better is a crust of your 
own, than a haunch of venison given by another; 
therefore, be " content with such things as ye have," 
and " provide things honest in the sight of all men," 
rather than depend on the favours of others. The 
less you ask of your fellow-creatures the better, lest 
their precious oils should break your head ; but ask 
freely of God, for he " giveth to all men liberally, and 
upbraideth not," James i. 5. 



ON HUMILITY. 



I HAVE observed, in passing through life, and I dare 
say that you have observed the same thing, not only 
among men of the world, but also among Christians, 
that where one man has been disposed to practise hu- 



ON HUMILITY. 93 

mility, twenty have been ready to defend their own dig- 
nify. 

If you offend a man, ay, and a good man too, such 
is human infirmity, that it is ten to one but he thinks 
more about the respect that is due to him, and the 
enormity of your offence, than he does of the oppor- 
tunity of showing his humility, and of exercising for- 
giveness. Now, I read often enough in Scripture, that 
we should be " clothed with humility," and forgive our 
enemies, even those who trespass against us seven 
times a day, and repent ; but, in no one part of the 
Bible have I yet found, that we are exhorted to stand 
up in defence of our dignity. 

Think not, my friends, that I am making these ob- 
servations to you more than to myself. No ! no ! Old 
Humphrey has as proud a heart as any one among you, 
and requires to be reminded of it as often as you do ; 
a little humility is of more value than a great deal of 
dignity ; and what is the use of bristling up like a 
hedgehog at every little injury we receive ? He that 
punishes an enemy, has a momentary pleasure ; but 
he that forgives one, has an abiding satisfaction. Pride 
is an unchristian quality, yet how many Christians ap- 
pear proud ! Humility is a Christian grace, yet how 
few Christians are truly humble ! Shame betide us 
when we are proud ! there is a rod in pickle for our 
high-mindedness ; for, " whosoever exalteth himself 
shall be abased." Let us be humble, for " he that 
humbleth himself shall be exalted." One clear view 
of the cross of Christ will do more towards killing 
pride, than a hundred proud resolutions to be humble. 



94 THE FIRE-SIDE. 



THE FIRE.SIDE. 



If I could whisper in your ears one piece of advice, 
which at the moment appears to me to be of more value 
than another, it should be this, Make the most of your 
common mercies. If we always did this, the world 
would not be such a dreary waste as we sometimes 
make it, but, on the contrary, " the wilderness and the 
solitary place" would be glad, and the desert would 
"rejoice, and blossom as the rose," Isa. xxxv. 1. 

True it is, that in the world we must have trouble^ 
but there is a difference between the troubles which 
God sends, and the troubles which we bring on our- 
selves. The Father of mercies afflicts his people for 
their good, but he does it with tenderness ; a flower 
blooms on the brier that he puts in their path, and in 
the thirstiest desert he compels them to pass through 
they can drink of the brook by the way, and hold up 
their heads. 

The schoolboy makes the most of his hours of re- 
creation. It is the time for play, and play he will, and 
why should he not be happy ! He mingles with his 
favourite companions, runs to his favourite haunts, and 
chooses his favourite games, not losing a moment of 
his enjoyment, till the school-bell rings in his ears, and 
calls him to his books. Let us do as he does ; let us 
make the most of those seasons of innocent enjoyment 
which fall to our share. 

Pleasant is the breakfast hour, and cheerful is the 
meeting, when, refreshed by peaceful slumber, and 



THE FIRE-SIDE. 95 

tranquillized by morning prayer, the different members 
of a family assemble round the table to take their tea 
or coffee. At other meals the family may be divided, 
but, generally, here all are assembled. The busy 
cares, the hurried turmoils of the day have not dis- 
turbed the spirit ; all is peace, cheerfulness, and joy. 
Have you never felt this ? We ought to feel it contin- 
ually. 

But pleasant as the breakfast table is, there is ano- 
ther point of attraction still more so. Cheerful as the 
breakfast group may be, there is another group more 
interesting. The point of attraction is the fire-side, 
and the group, the beings that gather round it. 

The fire-side ! where is there a heart that does not 
glow at the very name ? Where is there a spirit that 
does not spring forward, to join the fire-side party? 

At the breakfast table, when the sun is mounting the 
skies, the table bounteously spread, and the cup run- 
ning over ; with health visible in the cheek, and ani- 
mation in the eye, there ought to be a warm gush of 
grateful emotion to the Giver of all good, but still a 
warmer gush will be wanted suitably to acknowledge 
the more social, the more comfortable, the more de- 
lightful enjoyment of a domestic fire-side. 

Come, reader, you can scarcely be a stranger to 
these things : come with me, and let us sit down by 
the fire-side together. Whatever may have been your 
occupation or your cares, however tried with disap- 
pointment, and ruffled with unexpected evils, it is all 
over now, for the day, at least. The sun has gone 
down ; the shadows of night prevail. The winds are 



96 THE FIRE-SIDE. 

blowing without, but the fire is sparkling within. The' 
shutters are closed, the curtains are drawn, there is 
yet an hour that may be passed peacefully and plea- 
santly ; let it be passed by the fire-side. 

Have you been accustomed to the splendour of a 
luxurious drawing-room, sumptuously furnished? 
Have the chairs and tables been highly wrought ? is 
the carpet costly? are the curtains and sofa of crim- 
son damask, the chandeliers of curiously cut glass,, 
and the chimney-piece of purest marble? Never 
mind ! for once take up with an humbler abode ; the 
prince and the peasant are alike to be pitied, if they 
have not the disposition to enjoy a domestic fire-side. 

And if your lot be a lowly one, if your home be 
ever so homely, where the faggot crackles on the 
hearth, and your accustomed seat is the oaken chest 
in the corner : come along, for I am not in a mood to 
idolize the rich, or to despise the poor. I care nought 
for your condition : if you have a heart that glows 
with gratitude to God, and a pulse that beats in unison 
with the welfare of mankind, you must be my com- 
panion. Let us make the most of our common mer- 
cies ; let us heartily enjoy the fire-side together. 

But it may be that your heart is ill at ease ; you 
may not be at peace with yourself. Some offence 
which you have committed may not be pardoned ; 
some good you have done may have been forgotten ; 
or some injury done towards yourself may be too keen- 
ly remembered. Come ! come ! There are thorns in 
every hedge, and cares in every heart : I have somfr 



THE FIRE-SIDE. 97 

in my own : but let us both, for a season, pass them 
by, and now seat ourselves by the fire-side. 

Often in the years of infancy have I lain in my mo- 
ther's lap, by the fire-side, or nestled in her bosom. 
There was I undressed at bed-iijue, and prepared for 
my little crib ; and there my mother lifted and held 
up my infant hands, teaching me to lisp the name of 
Jesus. 

In the days of my boyhood often have I sat by the 
fire-side, with half a dozen rosy-faced companions. 
We have read our books ; played at the games that 
young people delight in ; roasted our apples ; told 
long stories ; and laughed till the room rang again, for 
our hearts were as light as though there was no such 
a thing as care in the world. The future hour, and the 
future year, were always bright: we feared nothing, 
and hoped every thing, for we knew, or thought we 
knew, that as we grew older we should be sure to be 
happier. 

When manhood drew nigh, the fire-side was still a 
favourite place ; there was the events of the day, and 
the plans for to-morrow, talked over. There my ao-ed 
grandmother, in her arm-chair, deplored the changes 
for the worse which had taken place since she finish- 
ed her last sampler, and was allowed to be the first 
scholar in the school. " Farmers' wives," she said, 
"jogged to market on horseback then, and butter was 
fourpence a pound ?" 

There my parents recounted the history of their 
earlier years ; the trials they had endured ; the difli- 

9 



98 THE FIRE-SIDE. 

culties they had overcome ; the objects they had ob- 
tained. 

There have I mingled with the cheerful friends, and 
sat alone in solitary hours, gazirjg on the glowing em- 
bers till the season of repose ; and there have 1 and 
those dear to me offered up our evening sacrifice to 
" the High and Holy One that inhabiteth eternity," in 
the prevailing name of the Redeemer. 

The fire-side is a chosen spot, a chartered space ; 
endeared by a thousand affectionate recollections. It 
is so in my case ; surely it is the same in yours ! 

But all earthly things are given to change, and the 
fire-side of our infancy and youth is rarely that of our 
manhood and old age. Still, however, it retains an 
attractive charm ; still it has a hold, a strong hold on 
our affections. 

What though we are no longer children ; though 
we no more behold those who watched over us in our 
by-gone days ; though the friends of our youth may 
be looked for in vain, there are other beings thronging 
around us, sharing our joys and our sorrows ; other in- 
terests have grown up in our hearts. The fire-side is 
yet the home of domestic pen, e ; and if there are in 
heaven those who draw our thoughts after them, there 
are also on eartii those who call them back again to 
the world. 

Let us make the most of our common mercies, and 
if health and strength, if food and fuel, if a home and 
fire-side be ours, let us see how we can turn them to 
the best advantage. Some of the pleasantest, some 
of the happiest hours of my life, hare been spent by 



THE FIRE-SIDE, 99 

the fire-side, and you, too, must have had your fire-side 
enjoyments. 

If you have sat there vi^ith the partner of your joys 
and sorrows, while your knees have been besieged by 
a httie band of rosy-faced prattlers, whose animated 
eyes have made your own sparkle, and whose very 
tormentings have given you pleasure; if you have 
ever known the warm rush of emotion that is some- 
times felt, while looking round exultingly as a husband 
and a father, I need not tell how much pleasure a fire- 
side has to bestow. 

Let us make the most of our common mercies. 
We paint our houses, whitewash our walls, and weed 
our gardens ; why not, then, improve our fire-sides ? 
Why not make them all that they should be, by ban- 
ishing from them all that is unlovely, and adorning 
them with all that is amiable and excellent ? When 
a family party, a fire-side circle, are all of one mind ; 
when their love is without dissimulation ; when they 
abhor that which is evil, and cleave to that which is 
good ; when they are kindly affectioned one to another, 
with brotherly love, in honour preferring one another ; 
when they look to the same Saviour unreservedly for 
salvation, and with one heart and voice sing his praise, 
they come nearer happiness than any thing on this 
side heaven. 

What the future may be we know not ; let us be 
grateful for the present and the past ; for he that can 
look back to the fire-side of his infancy, his youth, and 
his manhood, without feeling some kindling glow of 



iOO THE FIRE-SIDE. 

friendship and affection, must indeed, have been un- 
happy. 

If in the mirthful sports of your childhood, when 
the fire has blazed cheerfully, your eye has been the 
brightest of the assembled throng; and if, in after 
years, you have found your fire-side a fire-side of hap- 
piness, when next you sit there, take up the Book of 
Life, that your joy may be full. If you are looking 
aright for a more enduring joy than earth can give, the 
brightest fire-side scene is as nothing compared with 
what is promised ; for " eye hath not seen, nor ear 
heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the 
things which God hath prepared for them that love 
him," 1 Cor. ii. 9. And if the bitter bread, and water 
of afiliction and sorrow, have been your sustenance, 
still take up the book of eternal life, and read what is 
in store for the sorrowful servants of the Lord ; — " He 
that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them 
They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more ; 
neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat ; for 
the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall 
feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of 
waters : and God shall wipe away all tears from their 
eyes,'' Rev. vii. 16. 

Again I call upon you to improve your common 
mercies, and among them not to neglect the improve- 
ment of your fire-side, that it may become the dwell- 
ing-place of a grateful heart, the home of hospitality, 
the shrine of friendship, the sanctuary of affection, and 
the temple of praise. 



ON INFIDELS. 101 



ON INFIDELS. 

In moving among mankind, I have now and then 
met with infidels, who have not only declared their 
disbelief of the Bible, but endeavoured, also, to des- 
troy the faith of others in that blessed book. The 
way in which they have always begun their attack, is 
to higgle and wriggle about some disputed point of lit- 
tle importance, with as much confidence as if they 
were on the very point of overturning the whole truth 
of Scripture by their silly prattle. Just as soon would 
a poor blind mole tear up from the ground an oak of a 
hundred years' growth, by burrowing under one of the 
least of its roots. 

If ever you fall in with any of these unhappy be- 
ings, do not be drawn in to cavil with them about tri- 
fles, but boldly declare your opinion, leaving them to 
wrangle, if they like, by themselves. 

Tell them that if there be anything good, and pure, 
and holy, and heavenly in the world, the Bible exhorts 
us to practise it ; and if there be anything that is evil 
and base, and vile in the world, the Bible commands 
us to avoid it. That will be a poser. 

Tell them that the Bible contains more knowledge 
and wisdom than all the other books that were ever 
printed put together ; and that those who believe its 
promises, and obey its commandments, have peace, 
and hope, and joy in the cares of life, and the trying 
hour of death. That will be a poser too. 

Tell them that the Bible has been loved and believ- 

9* 



102 ON INFIDELS. 

ed by the wisest and best of men from generation to 
generation, as the word of the living God ; and that i* 
makes known to a sinner the only way of salvation 
through the merits and death of a crucified Redeemer. 
That will be another poser. 

And then, ask them, before they pull the book to 
pieces any more, to produce one that has done a thou- 
sandth part as much good in making men happy on 
earth, and in guiding them in the way to heaven ; and 
that will be the greatest poser of all to them. 

Depend upon it, this course will be better than 
wrangling and jangling about slicks and straws, losing 
your temper, and feeling yourself outwitted into the 
bargain by the borrowed conceits of silly coxcombs, 
whose hearts and whose heads are equally empty. 

I hardly know if 1 have written this in a Christian 
temper, and manifested a proper degree of forbearance. 
The burden carried by the infidel is heavy enough as 
it is, and, by and by, it will grow heavier ; let me, 
therefore, accost him with kindness. 

Repent thee, sinner ! act a wiser part, 
For sin has sorely burdened thy poor heart ; 
Malce for the cross, and keep the gospel track ;— 
Haply thy load will tumble from thy back. 

I know well enough that neither my poor prose nor 
poetry of itself can be useful, but if the High and 
Holy One, the Heavenly Archer, pleases, he can make 
both the one and the other polished arrows, sending 
them direct to the heart of the infidel. To his mercy 
and grace I would humbly leave the matter, with the 
prayer that all infidels and Jews, and Turks and hea- 



ON QUACK DOCTORS. 103 

thens, nmy become Christians in heart, in spirit, and 
in truth, and be made partakers of the glorious inheri- 
tance, prepared through Jesus Christ, for the people of 
God. 



ON QUACK DOCTORS. 

If you do not know what a quack doctor is, it does 
not signify, nor wO'ld it, indeed, be of any evil conse- 
quence if you ne\Xi should know all the days of } our 
life ; but as there is some danger that, at one time or 
other, you may fall into the hands of quack doctors, 
if you remain in ignorance of them, so I will, as well 
as I can, explain what a quack doctor is, that you may 
be aware of your danger, and guard against him. 

A quack doctor, then, is one who undertakes to cure 
diseases in a way that no other person can, by some 
particular medicine known only to himself. He prints 
handbills, and puts puffing accounts in the newspapers, 
about the many and wonderful cures he has performed, 
and thus deceives people, easy of belief, by his vain 
boasting, persuading them that he is astonishingly 
learned and clever, while, at the same time, he is 
often miserably ignorant and unskilful. 

If there be one mark plainer than another, by which 
you may discover a quack doctor from a talented phy- 
sician or skilful surgeon it is this, that he often under- 
takes to cure diseases, totally different from each other, 
by the same means. Now, this is so barefaced an 



104 ON QUACK DOCTORS. 

imposture, that one would wonder where people could 
be found so simple as not to see through the cheat ; 
yet so it is, such silly people are to be found, and that 
in great abundance. As it is my wish that you may 
not act so unwise a part as these people do, 1 will en- 
deavour to make it quite plain to you, how very weak 
and wicked it is to undertake to cure opposite com- 
plaints with the same remedy. 

Suppose three boys wanted to do three things. One 
to warm his hands, another to fly his kite, and a third 
to quench his thirst, and I advised them by all means 
to get a good fire as soon as they could, that they 
might all do what they wanted to do. Now, you may 
see, with half an eye, that though the good fire might 
do capitally to warm the hands of the one, it would 
not enable the other to fly his kite, nor the third to 
quench his thirst. Or, suppose that, instead of a good 
fire 1 recommend them all to use a ball of packstring, 
why they would be no better off than before : for 
though one might certainly fly his kite with the pack- 
string, the others could neither warm their hands with 
it, nor quench their thirst. Should I not, then, think 
you, deserve to be censured for folly, instead of being 
praised for wisdom? And so ought every quack doctor 
in the land to be censured, when he undertakes to 
cure, except in particular cases, opposite diseases with t^'^ 
the same remedy. 

Let us suppose, again, that three persons are un- 
well ; one is faint with want and weariness ; a second 
has the rheumatism ; a third is afflicted with inward 
inflammation, and now imagine that I am foolish enough 



Oft 



ON QUACK DOCTORS. 105 

to attempt to cure them all by giving them two or three 
glasses of wine. Now, the wine, in the first case, 
might cheer up the fainting spirits of the sinking per- 
son, but it would not be at all likely to relieve the 
rheumatism in the second ; while in the third, it might 
occasion death. Would you, in such a case, honour 
me for my knowledge and kindness, or despise me for 
my ignorance and cruelty ? But 1 need not ask : you 
would set me down as a man that ought to be avoided. 
Mind, then, that you avoid a quack doctor. 

The impudence of quack doctors is unbearable. 
One professes to cure all the diseases to which the 
body is liable, by a few bottles of a medicine, that, in 
many cases, will do neither good nor harm ; while 
another boastingly undertakes to do the same thing 
with a box of pills, which may be altogether injurious 
to take. This impudence and folly might be laughed 
at, if it did not do so much mischief as it does ; but when 
a quack doctor persuades a poor afflicted being to de- 
pend on his useless, if not injurious stuff, instead of 
applying to a skilful professor of medicine or surgery, 
he is trifling with the life, and sacrificing the happiness 
of a fellow creature. And here I would just notice 
that almost all the tinctures, elixirs, balms, and other 
wonderful quack medicines you read about, contain a 
arge quantity of spirits, or alcohol. 

If ever you should be afflicted with disease, at any 
period of your life, never go to a quack doctor : avoid 
him as you would plague, pestilence, and famine. Go 
to one whose days have been devoted to the acquire- 
ment of knowledge and skill as a doctor ; let him have 



106 ON QUACK DOCTORS. 

your money, and, with God's blessing on his assistance, 
you may hope for a cure. Nay, if you have no money 
to give, do not be down-hearted on that account, for 
though quack doctors are not fond of giving their ad- 
vice for nothing, many wise and kind-hearted surgeons 
and physicians do so continually. 

I hate quack doctors, or rather I hate their guilty 
practices ; for I hold it a fearful thing to tamper with 
the afflicted bodies of human beings. We are fear- 
fully and wonderfully made, and he who pretends to 
understand, and to relieve diseases, when he knows 
that he is ignorant of them ; yea, when he knows that 
he is living on the very life-blood of his fellow crea- 
tures, has a dreadful account to give of his sinful ca- 
reer. 

But though it be, as I said before, a fearful thing to 
tamper and trifle with men's bodies, it is a still more 
fearful thing to tamper and trifle with their souls ! 
And there are thousands who set up as spiritual quack 
doctors in the world, ever ready to persuade people to 
take their advice instead of that of the faithful minis- 
ters of Christ, who plainly point out the diseases of 
our souls, and the proper remedies for our sins. 

Every one who lives in the world is liable to some 
particular bodily disease, more than to another, and it 
is the very same with the soul ; we each of us have 
a besetting sin. These spiritual quacks often try to 
make people believe that the disease of sin is not so 
general, or not so dangerous, as it really is. Some of 
these quacks are very ignorant, and others, very de- 
signing ; be then upon your guard, " for they lie in 



ON QUACK DOCTORS. 107 

wait to deceive," Eph. iv. 14. Sooner or later they 
will be found out in their evil practices. 

It is enough to sink us to the dust, to know that we 
are all affected with the leprosy of sin ; but it is 
enough to raise us up with joy, to be assured that 
there is a great Physician, who cures all who apply 
to him. He has a fountain open for all uncleanness ; 
he heals every disease, and bids the bones that are 
broken to rejoice. These things he does without fee 
or reward, without money, and without price. 

This great Physician is the Redeemer of the world, 
even our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. He " died 
for our sins, and rose again for our justification," and 
now sits on the right hand of God, " able to save them 
to the uttermost that come unto God by him," Heb. 
vii. 25. I cannot tell you half the wondrous cures 
he performs by his Almighty power; not only the 
" blind receive their sight, and the lame walk : the 
lepers are cleansed, and the deaf hear," but the " very 
dead are raised," Matt. xi. 5 ; and those who once 
looked forward to eternal death, he makes partakers 
of everlasting life. Have nothing to do with the quack 
doctors of the soul, any more than with those of the 
body. The soul is of too great a value to be trusted 
in their hands. Go to the great Physician, as you 
have need of his assistance, for " all have sinned and 
come short of the glory of God," Rom. iii. 23. " If 
we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the 
truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faith- 
ful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse ua 
from all unrighteousness," 1 John. i. 8, 9. 



108 ON SUNSHINE. 



ON SUNSHINE. 



A WORD with you about sunshine. When I look at 
the sun, and ca]l to mind that it is a million times 
the size of the earth, and ninety-five millions of miles 
from us, it so oppresses my brain with thoughts of 
infinity, that I am glad to turn off to something a little 
better suited to my weak understanding. It is no use 
grappling with conceptions beyond our power. My 
head can no more bear to reflect on the magnitude of 
the sun, than mine eye can endure to gaze upon its 
brightest noon-day beams. 

I would willingly keep within compass, and say in 
reference to God's creation, as I would ever wish to 
say in regard to the hidden things of the Almighty, 
" Lord, my heart is not haught}?^, nor mine eyes lofty j 
neither do I exercise myself in great matters, or in 
things to high for me," Psa. cxxxi. 1. 

But I was about to speak of sunshine. Oh, how 
gloriously it arrays the heavens and the earth with 
brightness ! The scenes are very beautiful that pre- 
sent themselves to the eye in spring, when the trees 
put forth their green leaves, and the birds warble the 
joy that they do not know how to keep to themselves.. 
And not less so in summer, when the blossoms and 
flowers abound, and the woods are fully clothed. 
What can be more attractive than autumn, with its 
fruit and corn, and its trees and coloured leaves ! And 
who is there that will deny that the bare branches of 
winter's oaks, and elms, and thorn bushes, whei^ 



ON SUNSHINE. 109 

sprinkled with snow, or sparkling with hoar frost, are 
lovely to look upon ? and yet to each and to all of 
these, what a wonderous additional beauty does sun- 
shine give ! 

Look at sunshine on the snowy cloud, or on the 
clear blue sky ; the green meadow spotted with cro- 
cuses ; the hay-field, when the country people are at 
work there ; the waving corn, while the reapers cut 
it, and bind it into sheaves ; the broad-breasted moun- 
tain, or the sharp-pointed crag. Or, look at it when 
glittering on the murmuring brook, the weather-cock 
of the village church, or the window-panes of a cot- 
tage. Oh, it is a glorious thing ! But this is only 
the sunshine of the eye. The sun must be visible, or 
we cannot enjoy it. 

There is another sunshine, and I hope that you are 
no stranger to it. It is not confined to times and sea- 
sons, to the clearness of the atmosphere, and the 
state of the weather. It is not seen, but felt. It is 
known by all who honestly, and diligently discharge 
their daily duties ; by those who forgive their enemies ; 
deal their bread to the hungry ; bring the poor that 
are cast out to your houses, and clothe the naked. It 
is felt by the mother, as she presses her smiling babe 
to her bosom, and commends it to God ; by the father 
when his children grow up in virtue, and remember 
their creator in the days of their youth ; and by the 
Sunday-school teacher, when he sees the scholars im- 
prove that are commited to his charge. He who visits 
the fatherless and the widow in their affliction is sure 
to know it ; and individuals and families feel it when 

10 



110 ON SUNSHINE. 

they dwell in unity and affection. This is the sun- 
shine of the heart ; and those who delight to do good 
to others, who act justly, kindly, charitably, generous- 
ly, nobly, will be sure to find its influence in their bo- 
soms. You cannot take away trouble, nor give hap- 
piness to another, without feeling this sunshine. 

But there is yet another kind of sunshine, which is 
not dependent on the beams of the created sun, nor 
on the kindly affections of the human heart. A sun- 
shine that comes direct from One far more glorious 
than the sun in his noon-day brightness. It is known 
when it pleases God to lift up the light of his counte- 
nance upon us. At times we feel it, when reading 
the book of truth : the words came home to us ; we 
see that the Lord is gracious ; our souls magnify, and 
our spirits rejoice in God our Saviour. We feel it, 
too, in the hour of prayer and praise, when our heav- 
enly Father is pleased to bear witness with our spirit, 
that our petition is heard, and our sacrifice of praise 
accepted. We know its influence when the messen- 
ger of grace to guilty men, proclaims form the pulpit 
the glad tidings of salvation. We acknowledge its 
power when Christian men, in Christian institutions, 
make plain to us the goodness of the Lord in the con- 
version of the heathen world. This is the sunshine 
of the soul. It is felt by the penitent, when a sense 
of forgiveness melts his heart, and sets his tongue at 
liberty ; by the missionary, when he hears the idola- 
ter offer up his praise to the Saviour of sinners ; and 
by the aged servant of God, when, ripe for the harvest 
of eternal glory, he breathes forth his spirit in the words, 



ON SOMEBODY AND NOBODY. Ill 

" Now, Lord, lettest thou thy servant depart ia peace 
for mine eyes have seen thy salvation," Luke ii. 29. 

The sunshine of the eye you have seen, the sun- 
shine of the heart you have doubtless felt ; but if you 
are yet a stranger to the sunshine of the soul seek 
it with all diligence. The eye will become dim, the 
kindliest, the warmest affections of the heart will sub- 
side, their brightest sunshine will be overshowed ; but 
the sunshine of an immoilal soul, a glorified spirit, will 
be eternal, according to the promise : " The sun shall 
be no more thy light by day ; neither for brightness 
shall the moon give light unto thee ; but the Lord 
shall be unto thee an everlasting light, and thy God 
thy glory," Isa. Ix. 19. 



ON SOMEBODY AND NOBODY. 

My present address is of a singular kind. A few 
days ago I overheard a modest-looking young woman 
seemingly a respectable servant, speak the following 
words in giving an account of a lady whom she had 
known. " She used to take a deal of notice of me, 
which was very kind of her : why should she notice 
me at all, for I was nobody ?" 

Another person might not have thought this remark 
worthy of attention ; but I, who am frequently taken 
with trifles, was not only struck, but also much pleas- 
ed with the observation. It was the first time that I 
had heard the expression, and most likely it will be 



112 ON SOMEBODY AND NOBODY. 

long before I shall hear it again. Thousands of peo- 
ple try to make themselves appear " somebody," but 
it is a very rare case to hear any human being ac- 
knowledge himself or herself to be ** nobody." 

It set me thinking, not only of others, but of my- 
self ; for I felt conscious that though the young viro- 
man had thought herself " nobody," my proud and 
deceitful heart had persuaded me to consider myself 
" somebody," all my days. 

How is it with you ? Are you " somebody" or 
" nobody ?" Can you say in sincerity to the Searcher 
of hearts, " Lord, my heart is not haughty, nor mine 
eyes lofty : neither do 1 exercise myself in great mat- 
ters, or in things too high for me?" Psa. cxxxi. 1. 

It is said that the trees and plants of the earth are 
continually striving for air and light : that they are 
constantly trying to get above one another. Do you 
not think it to be the same with mankind ? Do you 
not think that this is the case with us all 1 If you 
feel guiltless of this so does not Old Humphrey. He 
can call to mind many instances wherein he has tried 
to pass himself off for *' somebody," but he cannot re- 
member one in which he has willingly respected him- 
self as " nobody." 

" I am as good as he is, any day ;" " She shall not 
hold up her head above me ;" and " We are company 
for your betters," are expressions common enough : 
but I question, if we were to travel through all Eng- 
land, from Newcastle to the Isle of Wight, and from 
the South Foreland to the Land's End, whether we 



ON SOMEBODY AND NOBODY. 113 

should hear one single human being advisedly confess 
that he was " nobody." 

Pride is the ruin of one half of mankind. Even 
children, when they get together, boast of their fathers 
and mothers ; and old men, with hoary hairs, speak 
with pride of the great things they have done, and the 
great people they have known : so that young and old 
wish to be thought " somebody." 

There are in God's word a great number of pre- 
cious promises to the humble, and a great number of 
awful threatenings to the proud. I will give you one 
of a sort, by way of sample. " Humble yourselves 
in the sight of the Lord, and he shall lift you up," 
James, iv. 10. — " Every one that is proud in heart is 
an abomination to the Lord ; though hand join in hand 
he shall not be unpunished." Prov. xvi. 5. Now, the 
promises are made to the " nobodies," and the threat- 
eninsfs to the "somebodies" of the world : have a care 
then to which class you belong. 

No doubt you remember reading of Ilaman, who 
was as proud a " somebody" as ever lived. He was 
determined to get up above his neighbours, till, at last, 
he got fifty cubits higher than Jie himself desired, 
being hoisted upon a gallows ; but when this proud 
** somebody" came down to the dunghill, Mordecai, 
whom he had treated as a " nobody," was raised up to 
sit among princes. " Be not high-minded, but fear," 
Rom. xi. 20. 

You have heard the parable of the rich man, who 
was so fond of fine clothe- and good living: no doubt 
he thought himself " somebody," and made other peo- 

10* 



114 ON SOMEBODY AND NOBODY. 

pie think so too : but what did it all come to ? You 
have heard, too, of Lazarus, who was a "nobody," 
for he asked only the crumbs which fell from the rich 
man's table, and yet you know what became of him. 
It happened to them both exactly according to the 
texts that I have given you : the proud " somebody" 
was brought low, and punished " where the worm dieth 
not, and the fire is not quenched," while the humble 
" nobody" was lifted up, even to heaven. 

Though the giant oaks and lofty cedars of the earth 
are laid low, yet do we lift up our heads like them, 
defying the storm. What a world of trouble, what a 
number of losses and crosses, what a succession of 
afflictions, are necessary, to convince us that we are 
" nobodies !" Indeed, Divine grace alone can efTectu- 
ally teach us true Christian humility. 

David was taught this lesson, when reflecting on the 
vast and mighty works of creation. " When I con- 
sider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon 
and the stars which thou hast ordained, what is man, 
that thou art mindful of him, and the son of man that 
thou visitest him?" Psa. viii. 3. If David was a 
" Nobody" when he reflected on God's creation, sure- 
ly you and I ought to be " nobodies" when reflecting 
on his grace. 



ON MORNING WALKS. 115 



ON MORNING WALKS. 

If you are sluggards, my address will give you but 
little satisfaction. . 

When the body is in health, and the mind at ease 
a morning walk before breakfast is a very delightful 
thing ; but if, in addition to this, the morning be a fine 
May morning, the scene a pleasant one, and the heart 
in a happy frame, then it is more delightful than ever. 
It is said that those who rise early only now and then, 
love to talk of early rising all through the day, while 
those who are accustomed to it, enjoy it heartily, as a 
thing of course, without prating about it. You must 
not, however, because I speak in praise of early rising, 
look on Old Humphrey as a lie-a-bed. 

There are times and seasons when things which 
have been common to us, suddenly appear to greater 
advantage. It was thus with me the other morning, 
when walking abroad before the hum of the busy 
world had broken on my ear. The clear bright blue 
sky set me thinking of heaven and of angels. If the 
under-side of heaven be so beautiful, what must the 
upper be ! If the very floor of our heavenly Father's 
abode so delight the eye, how will his mansions of 
eternal glory overcome us with delight and surprise ! 

The balmy breath of the morning in the neighbor- 
hood of a nursery-ground that I passed, was sweet 
indeed ; and the herbs and flowers, and rows of fresh 
springing peas and beans, and strawberry plants, and 
the fresh ruddy shoots of the hawthorn, and the bulby 



116 ON MORNING WALKS. 

clusters of young leaves on the top of the sycamore, 
about to burst into form and beauty, all spoke of hope 
and cheerfulness to the heart. At last I came to a 
spot so truly beautiful to the eye ; a spot where wood 
and water, heightened by the jubilee of the rejoicing 
birds, so afi'ected me, that I gazed upon it, and thought 
that if sin, and sorrow, and death could be banished 
from the world, earth would then become a kind of 
heaven. 

For a moment I was half inclined to doubt whether 
ought in the heavenly world could exceed in beauty 
the earthly one ; but this was but for a moment, for the 
thought occurred to me. If God has so clothed the 
grass of the field, so adorned with beauty the dwelling- 
place of sinners, how much more will he adorn the 
dwelling-place of saints ! If the footstool of the 
Eternal be thus unutterably lovely, what will be the 
splendour of his everlasting throne? 

The heavens to which we are journeying, will, 
doubtless, as much exceed the earth we inhabit, as 
spiritual things exceed temporal things. Here we 
can see, and hear, and conceive, what God has spread 
around us ; but " eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, 
neither have entered into the heart of man, the things 
which God hath prepared for them that love him," 1 
Cor. ii. 9. 

On my return, when the sun was higher in the hea- 
vens, I passed by a pleasant house with a stone front. 
The windows were open, and the clean table-cloth was 
seen spread, with the cofTee-pot standing on the table. 
The tones of a piano-forte were heard, while a low, but 



WHOSE SERVANT WILL YOU BE? 117 

melodious voice, chanted forth the morning hymn. 
The garden was in full bloom ; the shrubs were green 
as the very grass ; the flowers under the veranda were 
beautiful ; the very cat, sunning herself on the stone 
step, looked comfortable ; and Old Humphrey stepped 
along with so light a foot, and so happy a heart, that 
he felt more like a young man than an old one. 

If you are early risers, if you are walkers abroad 
while the east is glowing with the beams of the gold- 
en sun, you know something about these things ; but 
if you are not, you are robbing yourselves of health 
and of happiness. If you will rise betimes, you will 
enjoy more of God's creation than you do ; you will 
improve your health, temper, and tone of mind ; the 
day will pass more pleasantly with you ; and, when 
night comes, you will, with a more fervent spirit, thank 
the Father of mercies for his abundant blessings, and 
sink into a sounder slumber. 



WHOSE SERVANT WILL YOU BE ? 

Whose servant will you be ? Tell me. Whose ser- 
vant will you be ? Do not be offended at the question, 
whether you are rich, or whether you are poor, for we 
must all be servants, give ourselves what airs we may. 
We must be the servants of Satan, or the servants of 
God. 

A very important affair this. Let us look at it a lit- 
tle closer ; let us see what are the terms of our servi- 



118 WHOSE SERVANT WILL YOU BE? 

tude on one side, and on the other ; and, first, let us 
inquire into the servitude of Satan. 

The servant of Satan will have fair prospects set 
before him ; he will dance, and sing, and laugh at com- 
ing care. The pleasures of sin will be his for a sea- 
son. This, you will say, is something like sunshine ; 
but let us go on. 

He who serves Satan, must wear Satan's livery, 
which is black, turned up with black ; black within, 
and b^ack without. On special occasions he will wear 
a wh^e suit, lined with black ; but whether the servant 
of Satan dresses in his proper livery, or appears as an 
angel of light, he is bound always to carry about with 
him a black heart, black desires, and black designs. 
What think ye of this ? 

The servant of Satan must always be the servile 
drudgf., the cringing slave of his master. He must 
be a bondsman to the power of sin, the love of sin, 
the desire of sin, the commission of sin, and the pun- 
ishment of sin. This is bad enough, and too bad. 

The servant of Satan must always be in dread of 
the law of God, the justice of God, and the judgments 
of God. This is worse still. Do you not think so ? 

1 said that the servant of Satan will be allowed some 
short-lived pleasures, but every rose he plucks will 
have a thousand thorns ; every blissful cup he drinks 
will be dashed with worm-wood. Peace will be ban- 
ished from his pillow ; hatred, bitterness, remorse, and 
fear, will be his companions. The heavens over his 
head will be brass, and the earth under his feet will 
be iron. Behind him will be an accusing conscience, 



WHOSE SERVANT WILL YOU BE? 119 

and before him death, judgment, and everlasting des- 
truction. This is worst of all. Let us now look on 
the other side. 

The servant of God will have tribulations and tears. 
He will be tried by the world, tried by the flesh, and 
tried by the devil. You will say this is a bad begin- 
ning ; so it appears, but let us see a little further. 

The servant of God will not be left alone in his 
troubles ; his afflictions will be sanctified ; he will be 
strengthened in weakness, guarded in danger, guided 
in difficulty, and comforted in despondency. This is 
somewhat better. 

The servant of God will find his service perfect free- 
dom. Neither the power, the love, the desire, nor the 
punishment of sin, will be permitted to subdue him. 
Over these he will come off more than conqueror, 
through Christ, that loveth him, and hath given him- 
self for him. Why this is even better than the other. 
Life, and death, things present, and things to come, 
yea, all things, shall work together for his good. The 
Friend of sinners will be his friend ; the God of grace 
will be his God ; he will be guided by his counsel, and 
after that received into glory. Why this is better than 
all. 

But, in a word, let us sum up the wages of the ser- 
vant of Satan, and the wages of the servant of God. 
*' The wages of sin is death," (eternal death ;) " but 
the gift of God is eternal life, through Jesus Christ our 
Lord," Rom. vi. 23. Need I again ask the question, 
Whose servant will you be ? 



120 TO ONE COMING SUDDENLY 

TO ONE 

COMING SUDDENLY INTO 

POSSESSION OF PROPERTY. 

Dear Gerard, 

It may be that you expect a letter from me, a line or 
two to tell you how glad I am to hear of your newly 
acquired property ; but really, really, after turning the 
affau over in my mind in every way, I see but very 
little reason for cong-ratulation. 

The injunction of the apostle is, " Having food and 
raiment, let us be therewith content," 1 Tim. vi. 8 ; 
and though few of us would be satisfied with so mod- 
erate a competency, yet, after all, I question much if 
the temptations and dangers of suddenly acquired 
riches are not much greater than their supposed ad- 
vantages. So many are the cautions respecting riches 
in God's holy word ; so many have been ensnared by 
abundance, and ruined by riches, that I am quite in- 
clined to apply the apostle's exhortation to Timothy, 
to your case. " Charge them that are rich in this 
world, that they be not high-minded, nor trust in un- 
certain riches, but in the living God, who giveth us 
richly all things to enjoy ; that they do good, that they 
be rich in good works, ready to distribute, willing to 
communicate," 1 Tim. vi. 17, 18. 

1 look at the affair in this way. That which draws 
us nearer to God, and helps us on our way to heaven, 



INTO POSSESSION OF PROPERTY. 121 

however disagreeable it may be, must be a good thing ; 
and that which separates us from God, and hinders our 
heavenly progress, however pleasant it may be, must 
be a bad thing. You had enough of this world's goods 
before, to satisfy a moderate man, and now all this 
coming in addition alarms me, more than it gives me 
pleasure. I cannot choose but deal in cautionary re- 
marks, rather than in congratulations. 

Have a care, Gerard, for you are in jeopardy ; you 
stand in a very exposed situation, and have to walk in 
slippery places. " Take heed, and beware of covet- 
ousness : for a man's life consisteth not in the abun- 
dance of the things which he possesseth," Luke xii. 
15. That I am not treating the matter too seriously 
will at once be seen, by reading over that arresting 
text in the 16th of Matthew ; " What is a man profit- 
ed, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own 
soul?" 

Riches are not always gains. A rich man presents 
a wider target than a poor man, for the arrows of envy, 
malevolence, and misfortune. Did you never hear of 
a man being mortally bitten by a viper, on his own es- 
tate ? Nor of others being gored to death by their 
own cattle, kicked by their own hunters, or robbf d by 
their own servants ? 

Did you never hear of a rich poor man, and a poor 
rich man ? Did no instance ever reach you of a rich 
man being poor in health, poor in earthly ease, and 
poor in heavenly expectation? Nor o^ a labouring 
man rich in health of body, rich in peace of mind, and 
rich in heavenly hopes ? Surely you must have met 

11 



122 TO ONE COMING SUDDENLY 

with instances of this kind, for they are by no means 
rare. 

To speak the truth. I am in a great strait ; for 
though I would not undervalue God's providence in 
any shape, yet I know not whether I have most to 
hope or to fear on your account. Much riches require 
much grace, because they subject us to much tempta- 
tion. If it were not so, never would the Redeemer 
have spoken the words, " Again I say unto you, It is 
easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, 
than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God," 
Matt. xix. 24. Have a care, Gerard ! have a care ! 

If you are saying to yourself, " How shall I render 
my riches available to extend the Redeemer's kingdom, 
and the welfare of my fellow sinners ?" or, what will 
be still better, if you are saying, with sincerity, to the 
Lord of life and glory, " Teach me how to use these 
thy gifts for thy glory, for the good of my own soul, 
and the temporal and spiritual benefit of all around 
me ;" then I can and do congratulate you. But if you 
are only looking forward to a larger house and estab- 
lishment, more sumptuous dainties, and more costly 
apparel, exultingly planning how you will pull down 
your barns and build greater, and secretly whispering 
within yourself, " Soul ! soul ! thou hast much goods 
laid up for many years, take thine ease, eat, drink, and 
be merry ;" why then, all that 1 can do is, to moura 
for the calamity that has befallen you, and to urge you, 
as riches have increased, not to set your heart upon 
them. 

Will riches add to your health ? give you an appe- 



INTO POSSESSION OF PROPERTY. 123 

tite ? assist your digestion ? afford you peaceful slum- 
ber ? Will they cure the pains of the head, or the 
heart? or contribute to the peace of your mind? or 
add to the number of your days ? Will they make you 
wiser or better than you were before ? Will they 
smooth the bed of death, afford you " peace at the last," 
and brighten your hope of heaven ? If they will do 
none of these things, Gerard, they are not quite so 
desirable as we often take them to be. 

There is a wise saying, " 'Tis a mercy to have that 
taken from us which takes us from God ;" and by the 
same rule, it must be an affliction to have that given 
us which produces the same effect. Riches often- 
times beget pride ; they persuade a man to think more 
highly of himself than he ought to think ; they tie him 
faster to a world which very soon he must leave ; they 
lay snares in his path, and engross those affections 
which ought to be set on higher and on holier objects. 
These are evils which the Father of mercies alone 
can prevent or remove. 

Remember, Gerard, it was the death of a relation 
that brought you into the possession of your fresh ac- 
quired inheritance, and this very circumstance should 
put you on your guard. You see the slender tenure, 
the spider's thread, on which your riches hang — the 
breath of life ! It may be for a few years, or a few 
hours, for a month, or for a moment, that you may en- 
joy them. " This night thy soul may be required of 
thee !" 

Gold may glitter, and silver may shine brightly in 
our ej'es, but true riches are the fear of the Lord, and 



124 TO ONE COMING SUDDENLY, ETC. 

" in the house of the righteous is much treasure," Prov. 
XV. 5. A bag of gold may look well in a man's coffer, 
but how wouFd it look in his coffin ? A rich man ought 
to think much of a sick-bed, a shroud, a grave, and a 
tomb-stone. 

You have been taught to set and to keep your face 
Zion-ward ; now there is no royal road to the man- 
sions of the blest. If the rich man enters heaven, he 
must go through the same gate as the poor man. 
Riches may buy many things, but they cannot buy a 
seat above the starry pavement of the skies. The way 
of salvation is free to all, and alike to all. Jesus Christ 
is " the way, the truth, and the life." He only can for- 
give sins ; he only can save a sinner. It is a hard 
thino- for a rich man to take up his cross ; yet this he 
must do, if he will be saved. 

You are a pilgrim, Gerard, and, take my word for it, 
that gold is one of the heaviest things a pilgrim can 
carry. You have henceforth to travel a boggy road, 
full of quagmires, with a weightier load than ordinary 
on your back, besides which, you have weightier du- 
ties to perform, and a weightier responsibility to sus- 
tain. This is, I know, the shadowy side of riches : 
but the bright side, most likely, will be dwelt upon by 
other of your friends. For myself, I desire to be guid- 
ed in all things, but I feel persuaded that great riches 
would, to me, be any thing rather than a blessing. 
With Agur of old, I would put up my prayer, " Re- 
move far from me vanity and lies : give me neither 
poverty nor riches ; feed me with food convenient for 
me : lest I be full, and deny thee, and say. Who is the 



ON SHOES. 125 

Lord ? or lest I be poor, and steal, and take the name 
of my God in vain," Prov. xxx. 8, 9. 

In one word, Gerard, riches will be a bar or a bless- 
ing to you, according as you use them ; but you have 
need to be more watchful and prayerful than ever. 

Art thou a pilgrim 1 dost thou travel straight 

By Calvary's cross, to find the narrow gate ? 

Is Christ thy hope, thy trust 1 yea, day by day, 

Thy guide, thy staff, thy lantern, and thy way 1 

Canst thou for him renounce thy worldly pride 1 

Is he thy riches'? is all dross beside ? 

Is he thy sword and shield in peril's hour ? 

Thy rock, thy refuge, thine abiding tower ? 

If with thy wealth around thee, thou canst bond, 

And seek with all thy soul the sinner's Friend, 

A beggar still at mercy's opened door, 

Then art thou rich indeed — if not, then art thou poor. 

That your s]f>iritual riches may increase, is the de- 
sire and prayer of 

Your Friend, 

HUMPHREY. 



ON SHOES. 

And is winter really come again? sharp, frosty, 
bleak-blowing winter ? Yes, indeed, it is true. I 
once urged those who abounded in earthly comforts, 
to give a blanket to the destitute and shivering beings 
who knew not the luxury of a warm and comfortable 
bed. And now, again, while the raw, keen air, the 
descending snow, the sudden thaw, the wet, slippery- 
sloppy pathway, await the sons and daughters of po- 
ll* 



126 ON SHOES. 

verty and affliction, I will again raise my voice on be- 
half of the needy and destitute. 

Perhaps, reader, it may be your custom at winter 
time, 

"To do some gentle deed of charity." 

You may have given a blanket to some one who want- 
ed it, thereby expending a few shillings in the luxury 
of doing good — have you slept the less warm for it, or 
been made poorer by the deed? You know that you 
have not ; and, most likely, since then you have ex- 
pended ten times the amount in indulgences which 
yield not half the gratification that a deed of benevo- 
lence produces. 

Think not that your gift already bestowed, should 
withhold your hand from bestowing another. Oh no ! 
God, in his mercy, has not kept back his bounty from 
you ; neither should you withhold your hand from do- 
incr CTood. Strengthen then the weak, bind up the 
bruised, encourage the broken-hearted, relieve the 
poor, and give a pair of shoes to some poverty-stricken 
being, who cannot afford to buy them. You may think 
me a bold beggar, but I am not begging for myself, 
and it is very cold. 

If, accustomed to be well shod during the winter, 
you have a good stock of shoes and boots to defend 
your feet from the searching influence of the dissolv- 
ing snow, you can hardly imagine what is endured by 
those who have wet feet from morning to night. 
Many a hapless fellow creature, brought up with care, 
and once watched over with tenderness, is reduced so 



ON SHOES. 127 

low, that the possession of a good pair of shoes 
would be considered a luxury, a positive blessing. 
Think of your own comforts, and of other's depriva- 
tions, and shut not up your heart to the wants of the 
destitute, but give a pair of shoes, or something to- 
wards enabling some poor creature, who stands in 
need of them, to obtain such a comfort. 

Read the words of Scripture, " Whoso hath this 
world's good, and seeth his brother have need, and 
shutteih up his bowels of compassion from him, how 
dwelleth the love of God in him?" 1 John iii. 17; 
and then say, can any one go guiltlessly through the 
■world, treading on comfortable carpets within doors, 
and well defended from inclemency without, while 
he sees, and attempts not to relieve, the misery and 
wretchedness of those who suffer from the want of 
shoes ? 

How many hours of discomfort, how many days of 
affliction, yea, how many years of disease and pain 
have been brought on by persons getting wet in their 
feet ! and will you let those who have fireless habita- 
tions, and blanketless beds, go almost shoeless through 
their splashy pathways, while, perhaps, lambswool 
stockings and strong well-made boots defend your feet 
from the least inconvenience ? If you have humanity, 
you will not, and if you have Christian charity, you 
cannot refuse your aid ; but, as you have ability and 
opportunity, you will do good unto all men, especially 
unto them who are of the household of faith," Gal. 
vi. 10. 

If your eye be quick to discern, and your heart 



128 ON SHOES. 

prompt to feel the distresses of others, you will not 
long lack opportunities to relieve them. Look around 
at the throngs that continually crowd the populous 
city or town ; regard not only their faces, but their 
feet ; not only their clothes, but their shoes also, and 
you will be surprised at the wretched shifts to which 
many of them are driven. It is enough to make the 
heart ache to see the miserable plight in which hun- 
dreds pursue their daily calling. Here is a ragged 
lad dragging along through the miry street, with a pair 
of old shoes bior enougrh for his father. There is a 
poor girl, who has contrived to tie on her feet with 
pack-string, another pair, already worn out by her 
mother ; and yonder is a barelegged and barefooted 
being, between whose defenceless toes the mud oozes 
as he paddles onward through the descending rain. 

Look towards the chandler's shop at the corner. 
Mark that meagre and tattered mother, with a child in 
her arms, wending her way there for a rushlight, 
splashing through the snowy puddle, with an old pair 
of thin-soled shoes on her feet, which cost only one 
and ninepence when they were new. Do not talk 
about her imprudence, and her improvidence ; who is 
there in this wide world that has not been imprudent 
and improvident ? David, perhaps, you will admit, 
was as faithful a servant of God as you are, and he 
says, " If thou, Lord, shouldst mark iniquities, Lord, 
•who shall stand?" Psa. cxxx. 3. Does it become 
us, then, to be severe, in such an inclement season, 
on our fellow-sinners, when we have been visited with 
unmerited mercy ? Cast another glance at the poor 



ON SHOES. 129 

wretch, as she stoops to adjust her brown-paper sock, 
and to pull up the trodden-down heel of her saturated 
shoe, and say whether the heart is to be envied that does 
not yearn to lessen her wretchedness, and to increase 
her comforts ? You may not know whether she has 
always acted with discretion, but you do know that 
she is walking in a miserable puddle, and that she 
has a wretched pair of shoes on her feet. 

Neither must you say that this picture is overdrawn ; 
on the contrary, it is sketched from the life ; it is un- 
mingled, unembellished truth, which you have only to 
look for to behold. 

These are sights which every one may see, and 
trials that every one, possessing the ability, ought to 
endeavour to relieve ; but we are too apt in such 
cases, to call upon others to act, and to excuse our- 
selves. We can cry loud enough, 

" Take physic, Pomp, 
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel," 

with affected virtuous indignation against hard-heart- 
edness, and yet be content to remain inactive, like the 
Pharisees of times gone by, who bound heavy bur- 
dens on men's shoulders, while they themselves mov- 
ed them not with one of their fingers. 

If, selfishly regardless of other's wants, we are 
liberally providing for our own comforts ; if, casting 
aside our shoes but half-worn out, which so many 
people would thankfully receive, we are ordering new 
ones, to gratify our pride, we deserve, indeed, to be 
visited with calamity. Wonderfully quick-sighted is 
a lame man in observing all who walk on crutches ; 



130 ON SHOES. 

benevolently susceptible are we, after a fit of the 
tooth-ache, to the pains of all visited with a like ca- 
lamity ; and were we compelled, for a single day, to 
wade through the miry streets without shoes, or with 
such only on your feet as freely let in the water, such 
an appeal as the present would be useless, for gladly 
should we contribute to the removal of trials which 
now, perhaps, we pass without pity. 

To a poor person, a strong, well-made pair of shoes 
is, at all times, a valuable present, but doubly so in the 
inclement season of winter. Be persuaded, then, to 
assist some one, whom you think worthy of your 
kindness, in attaining so desirable a benefit. Give not 
to those who frequent the pawnbroker's and gin-shop, 
for though you may deplore their misery, you cannot 
relieve it. Your bounty would only afibrd them a 
short-lived and guilty respite from their increasing 
cares. Give to those who are struggling hard to pro- 
cure comforts, which, when attained, will be highly 
valued, and carefully preserved ; and when the snows 
are abroad, and the rains descend, when the wintry 
winds whistle around your cheerful habitation, you 
will not regret having contributed to the comforts of 
the destitute. All the kindly feelings you may in- 
dulge in toward the poor, are not equal to the gift of 
a single pair of shoes : but while I mention this gift 
in particular, I would exhort to all deeds of kindness. 
" Blessed is he that considereth the poor : the Lord 
will deliver him in time of trouble." Psa. xli. 1. 



ON THE day's sorrow. 131 



ON THE DAY'S SORROW. 

When a physician is called in, the first duty he has 
to perform is to make himself thoroughly acquainted 
with the malady of the invalid ; he is thus enabled to 
direct his skill and judgment to a particular point ; but 
if he were called on to write his prescription without 
seeing his patient, or without a definite knowledge of 
his malady, the probability of his effecting a cure 
would be much decreased. 

Now, a writer, when he addresses his readers gen- 
erally, is just in this latter case. Like the physician, 
he may have a general knowledge of human nature, 
and be acquainted with the most common infirmities 
of his fellow-creatures, but unless his remarks are 
definitely directed to amend some particular evil, or 
effect some particular good, his success will, at best, 
be but partial. He may mean well, but, like an ar- 
cher shooting with a bow at a venture, he knows not 
where, nor with what effect, the point of his observa- 
tions will fall. 

My present address is a general one, and of neces- 
ity attended with the disadvantage already glanced 
at ; yet am I not without hope that it will pour oil and 
balm into some wounded bosom. Though the subject 
be that of sorrow, it may bid some desponding heart 
be glad, and gild with a smile some face now be- 
clouded with care. It may be that some will not un- 
derstand the meaning of " the day's sorrow ;" and Old 
Humphrey would be well satisfied on this subject to 



132 ON THE day's sorrow. 

be unintelligible to all his readers ; but this he cannot 
hope for. No ! no ! There are too many who will 
understand, too well, the meaning of " the day's sor- 
row. 

The language of Scripture is, " Sufficient unto the 
day is the evil thereof," Matt. vi. 34 ; and when the 
heart knows its own bitterness, that bitterness is none 
the less on account of its being unknown to the rest 
of the world. 

If you are among those who rise in the morning 
strangers to the toothache, the headache, and the 
heartache, you will act wisely lo offer up your hearty 
acknowledgement to the Father of mercies for his 
goodness : but you will act A'^ery foolishly if you do 
not also fervently pray that you may be prepared for a 
different state of things. 

" In the world ye shall have much tribulation," John 
xvi. 33, are the words of One who spoke as man never 
spake, and you will do well to bear them in continual 
remembrance. 

It often occurs, that Old Humphrey's first ejacula- 
tory prayer, on opening his eyes after a night's slum- 
ber, is, " Prepare and strengthen me for this day's sor- 
row !" Perhaps it ought not to be so ; perhaps we 
ought always to be more ready to thank God for mer- 
cies received, than to supplicate for more ; but the 
truth is the truth, and we are continually leaving un- 
done what we ought to do, and doing what we ought 
not to do. 

It may be thought that Old Humphrey too often in- 
troduces himself and his views when speaking ta 



ON THE day's sorrow. 133 

Others ; perhaps he does ; but if this be an error, he, 
at least, comiTiits it with an upright intention ; he be- 
lieves that he can best appeal to others' hearts by a 
faithful examination of his own : for " as in water, 
face answereth to face, so the heart of man to man," 
Prov. xxvii. 19. 

Do you know what it is when you awake, to feel 
the heart burdened ? to know that there is a something 
to contend with, even before you are aware of what 
it is ? I dare say you do^ for few people are altogether 
ignorant of it. 

And do you know what it is, after a few moments' 
pause, for the full knowledge of the trouble to come 
over you, like the shadow of a cloud on a sunshiny 
day ? No doubt you do ; and if so, there is but little 
danger of my being misunderstood, when I speak of 
" the day's sorrow." 

There are some subjects that more immediately con- 
cern God's people, and some that relate more particu- 
larly to the people of the world. The day's sorrow, 
however, will apply equally to the friends and the en- 
emies of the Redeemer ; for " whom the Lord loveth 
he chasteneth," and " there is no peace unto the 
wicked." 

Shall I beat about the bush, and talk of trouble and 
sorrow in general? or shall I come to the point at 
once, and ask what is your day's sorrow ? 

This latter course seems the best, and also the best 
adapted to my disposition. Come, then, let me in- 
quire what is the sorrow of the day ? 

Have you had a loss, or do you fear that you shall 

12 



134 ON THE day's sorrow. 

have one ? Lossss are trying things. Have you met 
with an unexpected disappointment in money matters ? 
Disappointments of this kind sometimes sadly per- 
plex and distress us. Is there a bill to pay that you 
are not provided for, and you must put yourself under 
an obligation that makes your spirit groan again ? No 
wonder that you are ill at ease. These landlords, 
and tax-gatherers, and tailors, and butchers, and ba- 
kers, seem, somehow or other, to know just the times 
when people cannot pay them, and then they call. 
How important, then, the literal injunction of Holy 
Writ, " Owe no man any thing, but to love one an- 
other," Rom. xiii. 8. 

Now, if your " day's sorrow" proceeds from all or 
from any of these sources, you have quite enough to 
becloud your spirit : but if you are one of God's 
people, take courage ; for though perplexed, you shall 
not be in despair ; though cast down, you shall not be 
destroyed. You may be weary and heavy laden, but 
comfort is at hand. " Come unto me all ye that labour, 
and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest," Matt, 
xi. 28, is the promise of Him who is no promise break- 
er. Be industrious, be prudent, be strictly honest, and 
be patient, keeping your mind at ease, for the lime 
being, by casting your burdens on Him who has promis- 
ed to sustain them, and all will yet be well. 

But perhaps you have some sickness, some bodily 
pain, some infirmity come upon you, the consequences 
of which are unknown to you, and alarm you. How 
many a dreary day and weary night are caused by 
such a day's sorrow as this ! But consider, you are 



ON THE day's sorrow. 135 

in the hands of a merciful and compassionate God, a 
faithful creator and Redeemer, who knows your frame, 
and considers that you are but dust. He can speak 
the word, and his servant will be healed ; or he can so 
sanctify the affliction as to make it the choicest of his 
blessings. Cheer up, fainting spirit ! think not thy- 
self undone : even now thy Father comforteth thee : 
" I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee," Heb. xiii. 
5 : thy chastisement may be a means of bringing 
forth the peaceable fruits of righteousness." 

It may be that you are sorrowing for sin, or mourn- 
ing for the loss of the light of God's countenance ; 
hanging down your head as the bulrush, and watering 
your couch with your tears. If this be your day's 
sorrow, you need nothing in addition to it. To live 
in fear of temporal troubles is to wear a sad millstone 
round the neck, but the apprehension of God's wrath 
is almost more than humanity can endure. 

But perhaps you mistake your case. If you are 
sorrowing for the punishment of sin only, it will be a 
mercy if that be followed S»y sorrow for sin itself, and 
then there will be comfort enough for you in God's 
word. A godly sorrow for sin is unspeakably better 
than an ungodly rejoicing in sin ; therefore if you are 
enduring that day's sorrow, once more I say, Cheer 
up ! So sure as you approach the cross of Christ, 
like Bunyan's pilgrim, so sure will the load fall from 
your back, and the burden from your heart. Whether 
your day's sorrow has to do with your mind, your 
body, or your possessions, I would, if I could, turn 



136 WHO CAN BEAR TO BE 

your mourning into joy ; but seeing that I cannot do 
this, I must commit you to Him who can. 

Oftentimes have I been sadly puzzled, while pon- 
dering on the sins and sorrows of the world ; and 
much wiser heads than mine have been puzzled too, 
at the same employment. It is said that a great man 
of olden time cut asunder, with his sword a knot that 
no one could untie. Now, a text of Scripture has 
often done the same thing for Old Humphrey : it has 
done away with many a difficulty ; why should it not 
do the same thing for you ? 

Whatever may be " the day's sorrow," look for a 
moment on the book of eternal truth ; for if you are 
a godly seeker after salvation, a lowl)^ follower of the 
Redeemer, you must receive consolation from the 
heart-reviving text, " Our light affliction, which is but 
for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding 
and eternal weight of glory," 2 Cor. iv. 17. 



WHO CAN BEAR TO BE TOLD OF HIS 
FAULTS ? 

What a world of vanity and infirmity do we live in ! 
How much of chastisement do we need ! how little 
can we patiently endure ! Does your experience 
respond to these ejaculations ? 

Were the question to be proposed to youth, maturi- 
ty, or old age, " Who can bear to be told of his faults ?" 
a thojusand tongues might be ready to reply, " I can ;** 



TOLD OF HIS FAULTS? 137 

but though the thousand were to be multiplied by ten 
thousand, it would not alter the truth of the remark, 
that it is a very rare thing to meet with any one who 
can bear to be told of his faults. 

In ray younger days I proposed to a few of my ac- 
quaintances, an occasional meeting for the express ob- 
ject of pointing out, in a friendly way, the failincis 
which we might, from time to time, discover in each 
other ; when one of my friends knowing more of human 
nature than myself, disconcerted me by proposing that 
we should meet in a nut-shell, being very confident 
that, with the exception of myself, all the members I 
should succeed in assembling together, might easily 
be contained in that limited receptacle. 

" Confess your faults one to another," James v. 1 6, 
is an injunction not difficult to be complied with, when 
our self-love is not wounded — when we have some 
advantage to gain, or some punishment to avoid ; but 
these cases do not prove that we can bear to be told 
of our faults. 

There are some who appear patiently to endure a 
reproof; others who will thank you for having admin- 
istered it ; and a third description will even make the 
request that their faults may be faithfully pointed out 
to them. But, speaking from an experience not very 
limited, I venture the observation, that in all these 
cases there is a reservation of disquietude, if not of 
actual displeasure, and the remark is strictly true, in 
a general sense, that we cannot bear to be told of our 
faults. 

As an exemplification of this fact, I will instance 
12* 



138 WHO CAN BEAR TO BE 

some results of my own observations. Being fond of 
paintings, drawings, albums, and posey ; having a 
sort of vagrant taste for the fine arts, I make a cus- 
tom, when mingling with my young friends in their lei- 
sure hours, to inspect their recent productions. Dear- 
ly do I love to see a performance well executed ; and 
a corresponding dissatisfaction awaits me when a care- 
less piece of work is submitted to me. I cannot look 
on a well-drawn figure, or read a spirited composition, 
without speaking in its praise ; nor regard a daub of a 
rose, with green leaves growing from every part of the 
flower as well as the stem, thick as the blackberries ; 
or a bird of paradise, standing on the tips of its talons 
on the petals of a passion flower, without mildly sug- 
gesting, that, in some respects, they might have been 
more correctly represented. Now, this latter infir- 
mity, if such it may be called, has ruined me with 
man)?- of my young friends, who would more willingly 
submit a performance to the whole of their acquaintance 
than to me. When I have endeavoured to make my 
suggestion of amendment as light to them as a feathery 
flake of descending snow, it has appeared to fall as hea- 
vily as a lump of pig iron on my displeased auditors, 
who, though they give me credit for some judgment, 
more than suspect me of envy and ill-nature. It is in 
vain that I make it a rule to convince them that my 
remarks are correct, for this only increases their dis- 
pleasure, which, in spite of all attempts to disguise it, 
is oftentimes so apparent, that 1 have almost determined 
to allow houses declining forty-five degrees from a per- 
pendicular, figures, with the eyes fixed in the top of their 



TOLD OF HIS FAULTS ? 139 

foreheads, birds with one leg, and thumping red roses, 
growing from the slender stems of the harebell, to pass 
in review before me, without dropping a single hint 
that they are not specimens of perfection. 

Some time ago, being detained at a house where a 
young lady was seated at the piano, I requested her 
to play " The Battle of Prague." She went on thump- 
ing away, with almost as much violence and monoto- 
ny as a dairy-maid churning butter. A pause, at last, 
occurred, by which I concluded that the piece must 
have been performed without my having identifiv?d it 
as the '* Battle of Prague." Unluckily, I pointed to 
her music-book, asking" h-^r if she had not passed over 
one part a little too hae^'ly. In as short a time as any 
attention to decency would permit, the book was 
closed, the instrument shut up, and the music-stool 
abandoned by the young lad}^, while, in the same 
space of time, my mind was made up never again to 
rebuke her — no, not if she should play " Handel's 
Water-piece" to the words of " I'd be a butterfly," or 
his grand " Hallelujah Chorus" to the tune of " Tink 
a tink.:" for she could not bear to be told of her errors. 

A friend of mine, possessing some talents as a pain- 
ter, occasionally exhibits a picture or two at the Exhi- 
bition of the Royal Academy. A week ago he show- 
ed me a representation of the interior of a cottage, 
nearly finished ; and to do him justice, it was a beau- 
tiful performance ; but, by one of those unaccountable 
oversights, which sometimes the cleverest men make, 
he had so painted a water-tub, that the top and the 
bottom of it were seen at the same time. This was 



140 WHO CAN BEAR TO BE 

an error which a stroke or two of his brush would 
have soon corrected, and had he himself made the dis- 
covery, all had been well ; but the mischief of it was, 
the fault was pointed out by another. It was in vain 
that I praised the painting generally, as a happy union 
of able design and talented execution. The unfortu- 
nate water-tub was evidently uppermost in his mind ; 
and I left him, determined to allow him in future to 
put as many tops and bottoms to his water-tubs as he 
pleased, without annoying him with my officious ob- 
servations. He could not bear to be told of his faults. 

Some years ago, a friend, justly esteemed as a 
scholar and a Christian, who was then, and probably 
is now, also, engaged in giving instruction in the 
higher branches of the mathematics and the classics, 
communicated to me the following singular fact : — 

A gentleman applied to him to receive lessons, who 
evinced a more than ordinary degree of information 
and ability, but who, it afterwards appeared, was af- 
fected in his intellects. One day, when at his studies, 
this gentleman suddenly undertook to make known to 
his instructor a plan which he had formed, to render 
the British army the finest in the world. He had, he 
said, after much observation and study, discovered 
that the deficiency of grenadiers among the British 
troops, was the only defect necessary to be remedied 
to render England the first among warlike nations. 
His plan was to have the troops of the line made taller, 
and for this purpose he had constructed an apparatus, 
which would gradually raise the heads of the soldiers, 
by elongating their necks a little at a time. 



TOLD OF HIS FAULTS. 141 

My friend could not refrain from suggesting the dan- 
'ger which a separation of the vertebrae of the neck 
and back would inevitably occasion, when the gentle- 
man expressed, in unmeasured language, his indigna- 
tion, that it should be supposed, for a moment, that any 
possible contingency could take place in his plan, for 
which he was not fully prepared. 

Even under the aberration of reason, he partook of 
the general impatience of mankind, when their errors 
are made known. He could not bear to be told of the 
fault of his plan, and my friend found it necessary to 
manifest more caution in his future remarks. 

I once borrowed, from a conscientious clergyman, 
the manuscript of a sermon which I had heard him 
deliver. It had struck me as a most impressive dis- 
course, and the reading it over again, only strengthen- 
ed me in the opinion I entertained. On returning it, 
I drew his attention to a passage that he had quoted 
as a text of Holy Scripture, but which, in reality, was 
taken from the Apocrypha, although it was very simi- 
lar in expression to one in the inspired volume. The 
best of men have infirmities, and this conscientious 
minister of the gospel had his, and he was evidently 
mortified by the detection of his error. It was too 
late to offer any explanation, or to soften the matter, 
for I read in his countenance very plainly that any at- 
tempt to borrow another manuscript would be in vain. 
He was a good man, but he could not bear to be told 
of his faults. 

This very day I was put sadly out of temper my- 
self, when I ought not to have been so. It happened 



142 WHO CAN BEAR TO BE TOLD OF HIS FAULTS. 

that I had promised to bring home a humming-top for 
a young relation, but it rained when I passed near the 
toy-shop, and it was troublesome to put down my um- 
brella, so I went on, and did not buy the humming- 
top. When I got home, the first cry was, " Have you 
brought me my humming-top ?" and when I said " No," 
Harry walked rather sullenly into the kitchen, where 
I heard him say to Betty the housemaid, " Mr. Hum- 
phrey tells us we must not break our promises, but he 
does not mind breaking them himself : he has never 
brought home my humming-top, though he promised 
it so faithfully." I could have taken the young rebel, 
and shaken him, so angry did I feel at his thus pro- 
claiming my error ; but a few moments' reflection sa- 
tisfied me that I, and not he, was to blame. Like the 
rest of the world, I had been impatient when I should 
have been patient: I could not bear to hear of my 
faults. 

It is very likely that both you and I have many 
faults of which we w^ould not willingly be reminded. 
Whence does this evil arise ? Does not conscience 
reply, It is because we possess so little of that self- 
knowledge and humility, which are enjoined in the 
Sacred Scriptures ? Surely he that convinces us of 
one fault is a better friend than he who flatters us for 
many excellences. " Faithful are the wounds of a 
friend : but the kisses of an enemy" (or an unfaithful 
friend) " are deceitful," Prov. xxvii. 6. 

Let us seek the humble disposition of the psalmist, 
who could sincerely say, " Let the righteous smite 
me ; it shall be a kindness : and let him reprove me ; 



AN ADDRESS TO A NEW-MARRIED COUPLE. 143 

it shall be an excellent oil, which shall not break my 
head," Psa. cxli. 5. 



AN ADDRESS 
TO 

A NEW-MARRIED COUPLE. 

I HAVE a message for you, a high and a holy mes- 
sage, coming from a high and a holy source ; one that 
concerns your comfort, your enjoyment, and your peace. 
An attention to it will shield you from many sorrows ; 
a neglect of it will burden you with many calamities. 
Now, mind that you receive it in a friendly, kind-heart- 
ed way. 

The Psalmist cried out, "Behold, how good and 
how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in 
unity !" Psa cxxxiii. 1. And if it be goodly and plea- 
sant for brethren to do this, surely it must be still more 
so for husbands and wives. Receive, then, the mes- 
sage with affection, " Bear ye one another's burdens," 
Gal. vi. 2. 

Did you ever find your hearts fill with joy, when 
you beheld a married couple surrounded with comforts, 
animated with the same hope, journeying on together 
towards the same heaven, affectionately loving and 
highly honouring each other ; and, in addition to all 
this, bearing each other's burdens ? Oh, it is a lovely, 



144 AN ADDRESS TO 

a glorious thing in this world of affliction, to find hearts 
knit together in sorrow and in in joy, sharing with equal 
willingness the shine and the shade ! 

And have you never looked with pain upon an ill- 
matched pair, reminding you of snarling dogs chained 
together, pulling different ways ? Have you seen the 
eye inflamed with wrath, whilst the tongue was ven- 
omed with bitterness, and discomfort, clamour, and 
confusion reigned around ? 

Oh, it is a bitter and an evil thing for those who are 
in wedded life to dwell in hatred, not in love ; increas- 
ing instead of bearing each other's burdens. 

I know not how it may have been with you, but my 
experience has taught me, that troubles will come 
without being sought after ; and that there are thorns 
and briers enough in the world, without our gathering 
them, and planting them in each other's bosoms. 

You have just entered on a new life, and God of his 
mercy grant that it may be a happy one ! but as it was 
of olden time, so it is now, weeds spring up in the 
fairest gardens. Such is the evil of our nature, that 
the cockle will grow with the wheat, and the thistle 
with the barley ; and so long as the human heart is 
not wholly sanctified with God's grace, so long will its 
infirmities, ever and anon, get the upper hand, setting 
at variance those whose heart-strings should be twined 
together ; bear, then, with a few remarks from Old 
Humphrey. 

Perhaps you have known each other from the days 
of youth, and succeeding years may have strengthen- 
ed your alTection. You were, perhaps, so well ac- 



A NEW-MARRIED COUPLE. 145 

quainted with each other's dispositions and qualities, 
that marriage has not made manifest a single infirmity 
that you did not know before. If so, happy are ye. 

But if, on the contrary, when you entered into wed- 
ded life, you were but half acquainted with each other ; 
if circumstances were not favourable to that thorough 
knowledge which beings, eating of the same bread, 
and drinking of the same cup, and sharing the sweets 
and bitters that fall to the lot of humanity, ought to 
possess, why, then, make amends for this disadvantage 
as far as you can, by bearing each other's burdens. 

It is an easy thing to love what is lovely in each 
other, to smile when the sun shines, and to be kind 
and good-tempered when your partner is kind and 
good-tempered too ; but this is no proof of real affec- 
tion. 

Can you put up with each other's infirmities, bear 
with each other's waywardness, and forgive each 
other's errors ? This is proving your affection ; this 
is, indeed, bearing one another's burdens. Old Hum- 
phrey is in the habit of putting some searching ques- 
tions ; questions that at times go right to his own heart, 
while he means them to go to the hearts of others ; he 
feels his infirmities, and smarts under his own correc- 
tion, so much, as to be half disposed to blot out the 
observations he has made ; but he will be faithful, in 
spite of his infirmities ; he will speak plain truths, ask 
plain questions, and make plain remarks, whoever may 
be affected by them. 

It is a clear case, that " two cannot walk together 
unless they are agreed ;" but if they are agreed, they 

13 



146 AN ADDRESS TO 

get on wonderfully well. The one may be stronger 
or weaker, bolder or more timid than the other, but that 
will not signify. The one may be a good walker, and 
the other a very bad one ; there may be some lameness 
or weakness in the one, and not in the other ; but still 
they will so accommodate themselves to each other's 
infirmities, that they will go forward in comfort and 
peace ; if this be true of any people in the world, it is 
particularly so of married people. 

The pnth may be stony, 

The hill may be steep, 
The hedge thick and thorny, 

The stream strong and deep ; 

but all will be overcome by helping each other along, 
by encouraging each other, and by bearing each other's 
burdens. 

I trust that you have not built your hope of earthly 
happiness on the mere attractions of each other's per- 
sons. A handsome face, and an agreeable way of be- 
haviour, are but a poor stock of comforts to begin 
housekeeping with. You have something better than 
these, but have a care how you begin ; for a good be- 
ginning is the best preparation for a good ending. 
You are now at ease ; but as the fairest summer has 
its thunder-cloud, so surely will the smoothest life 
have its cares. Are you ready to meet with disap- 
pointment and anxiety ? Are you ready to bear each 
other's burdens ? 

Your wants appear to be well supplied. In Scrip- 
ture language, your heads appear anointed with oil, 
and your cup runs over ; but it may not always be so. 



A NEW-MARRIED COUPLE. 147 

for gold and silver make to themselves wings, and fly- 
away. What if n-ant should take the place of plenty 1 
Will you then look kindly on each other ? Will you 
then bear each other's burdens ? 

You are in health, but you cannot reasonably expect 
to remain so long; the tooth-ache, the head-ache, the 
heart-ache, and a hundred other ails, are known by 
others, and are likely enough to be felt by you, and 
they may try you sorely ; and if care, want, and sick- 
ness, should meet together in your habitation, you will 
have need of all your affection, ay, and of God's grace, 
also, to enable you to remain kindly affectionate one to 
another, and to bear one another's burdens. 

If you cannot travel together with affection, you will 
find hatred and unkindness but sorry companions. If 
helping each other will not do, hindering one another 
will do worse. If bearing one another's burdens will 
not enable you to trudge along with tolerable comfort, 
you will make but a sad business of it, by adding to 
each other's load. Therefore " bear ye one another's 
burdens," Gal. vi. 2. 

If you have made your calculation for fine weather 
only, go and bespeak an umbrella, for be sure you will 
have need of it. If you think to look at each other 
always with the same fond and affectionate regard that 
you have yet done, you will be mistaken. I tell you, 
in spite of your fairy dreams of unabated love, that if 
you go through the first year of your married life with- 
out a single-heart-burning, you will deserve to have 
your pictures framed and glazed, and hung up in the 
market-hall for universal admiration. No ! no ! I will 



148 AN ADDRESS TO A NEW MARRIED COUPLE. 

tell you the truth ; however you try to flatter and de- 
ceive one another, you are a pair of poor, weak, err- 
ing, sinful creatures, requiring Divine aid every mo- 
ment of your lives, to keep you from inattention, from 
wanderings of heart, from selfishness, from bitterness, 
and from hatred. 

If you really wish to love one another always, you 
must love God always ; for none but God can preserve 
your affection, and enable you to bear each other's bur- 
dens. 

And, mark me, when the time comes, as come it 
will, when you feel yourselves to be overtaken in a 
fault, when you have been angry one with another, be 
faithful in questioning your own hearts. Say to your- 
selves in private, *' Am I sure the fault is not mine ? 
Have I not been thoughtless, unreasonable, selfish, 
hasty, or bitter ? If in the wrong, have I made ac- 
knowledgment of it, and am I anxious to avoid my er- 
ror in future ? And if in the right, am I desirous to 
manifest more forbearance to my erring partner?" 
These are questions that most of us are shy in putting 
to ourselves, but they are precious medicine, and if 
taken with a dependence on God's blessing, will do us 
great good. It will render us more humble, cautions, 
and forbearing ; it will increase our affection, and it 
will do much towards influencincr us to bear each 
other's burdens. Why cannot we always dwell in af- 
fection, and bear each other's burdens ? Why should 
an aggravating or an angry feeling ever rise in our 
bosoms ? It is because we have an enemy in the 
camp ; a deceitful heart in our bosoms, influencing us 



MY MOTHER. 149 

to believe that we are always right, and that others 
are always wrong ; teaching us to call things by wrong 
names, and persuading us that aggravation is merely 
thoughtlessness ; seltishnoss, nothing more than pru- 
dence ; and bitterness of heart, a virtuous indignation. 

In short, my opinion is this, that we are all so bad, 
that God alone can mend us ; and that the only way 
to dwell in continual aftection, bearing each other's 
burdens, is to live continually dependent on God, seek- 
ing the influence of the Holy Spirit continually, taking 
the blessed gospel of his beloved Son, our Saviour, for 
our guide, and seeking fervently, at the throne of mer- 
cy, for those heavenly supplies that our earthly infir- 
mities require. 

Had my object been to please you, I might have 
spoken more pleasantly, but I wish to do you good, 
even though it be against your will. Let not your af- 
fections, then, be a flower that opens and shuts in a 
day, but a tree whose deep-struck roots will bear the 
rocking of the wintry storm. You do not half love 
one another, if you wish not to love each other through 
eternity ; and if you wish to love each other through 
eternity, you will desire through time to dwell in af- 
fection, and to bear each other's burdens. 



MY MOTHER. 



Whether you have, or have not a mother, my 
present address will not be unsuitable. 

13* 



150 MY MOTHER. 

With whatever respect and admiration a child may 
regard a father, whose example has called forth his 
energies and animated him in his various pursuits, he 
turns with greater affection, and intense love, to a 
kind-hearted mother. The same emotion follows him 
through life, and when the changing vicissitudes of 
after years have removed his parents from him, seldom 
does the remembrance of his mother occur to his mind, 
unaccompanied by the most affectionate recollections. 

Show me a man, though his brow be furrowed, and 
his hair grey, who has forgotten his mother, and I shall 
suspect that something is going on wrong within him ; 
either his memory is impaired, or a hard heart is beat- 
ing in his bosom. " My Mother," is an expression of 
music and melody, that takes us back again to the 
days of our childhood ; places us once more kneeling 
in the soft lap of a tender parent, and lifts up our little 
hands in morning and evening prayer. 

For my own part, I never think of my mother, 
without thinking, at the same time, of unnumbered 
kindnesses, exercised not towards me only, but to all 
around her. From my earliest years, I can remember 
that the moment her eye caught the common beg- 
gar, her hand mechanically fumbled in her pocket. 
No shoeless and stockingless Irish-woman, with her 
cluster of dirty children, could pass unnoticed by her ; 
and no weary and wayworn traveller could rest on 
the mile-stone opposite our habitation, without being 
beckoned across to satisfy his hunger and thirst. No 
doubt she assisted many who were unworthy, for she 
relieved all within her influence. 



MY MOTHER. 151 

*• Careless their merits or tlieir faults to scan 
Her pity gave ere charity began." 

Had her kindness, like that of many, been confined 
to good counsel, or the mere act of giving what she 
had to bestow, it would not have been that charity 
which " beareth all things, believeth all things, 
hopeth all things, endureth all things," 1 Cor. xiii. 7. 
Her benevolence was uniform, and unceasing ; it was 
a part of her character. In benefiting another, dif- 
ficulty only increased her desire and determination to 
be useful. She was one who " searched out" the cause 
that she knew not ; her pen addressed the peer, and 
her feet trod the threshold of the pauper, with equal 
alacrity in the cause of charity. To be occupied in 
relieving the poor, and pleading the cause of the friend- 
less, was medicine to her body and mind. 

No child could cry, no accident take place, no sick- 
ness occur, without my mother hastening off to render 
assistance. She had her piques and her prejudices ; 
she never pretended to love those whom she did not 
like ; and she remembered, perhaps too keenly, an act 
of unkindness, but kindness was the reigning emotion 
of her heart. 

Reader, if you think that I have said enough, bear 
with me ; remember, 1 am speaking of my mother. 

Among the many sons and daughters of affliction, 
whose hearts were made glad by her benevolence, 
was a poor widow of the name of Winn, who resided 
in an almshouse ; my mother had known her in her 
childhood. Often have 1 gazed on the aged woman, 
as she shaped her tottering steps, leaning on a stick, 



152 MY MOTHER. 

towards our dwelling. A weekly allowance, a kind 
welcome, and a good dinner, once a week, were hers 
to the close of her existence. She had a grateful 
heart, and the blessing of her who was " ready to 
perish," literally rested on my mother. 

I could weary you with instances of my mother's 
kindness of heart ; one more, and I have done. 

With her trowel in her hand, my mother was busily 
engaged, one day, among the shrubs and flowers of 
her little garden, and listening with pleasure to the 
sound of a band of music, which poured around a 
cheerful air from a neighbouring barrack-yard, where 
a troop or two of soldiers were quartered ; when a 
neighbour stepped into the garden to tell her, that a 
soldier was then being flogged, and that the band only 
played to drown the cries of the sufl'ering ofl'ender. 
Not a word was spoken by my agitated parent ; down 
dropped her trowel on the ground, and away she ran 
into the house, shutting herself up, and bursting into 
tears. The garden was forgotten, the pleasure had 
vanished, and music had turned into mourning in the 
bosom of my mother. 

Reader! have you a mother? If you have, call to 
mind her forbearance, her kindness, her love. Try 
also to return them by acts of affection, that when the 
future years shall arrive, when the green sod shall be 
springing over the resting-place of a kind-hearted 
parent, you may feel no accusing pang when you 
hear the endearing expression, My Mother ! 



ON AIDING THE MISSIONARY CAUSE. 153 

ON AIDING 
THE MISSIONARY CAUSE. 

As I hold the highest title on earth to be that of a 
servant of God, and the most important employment 
that of making known to sinners the sabation that 
God has wrought for them through his Son Jesus 
Christ, so I cannot but estimate very highly the charac- 
ter of an humble-minded, zealous, conscientious mis- 
sionary. Men undertake, endure, and achieve much 
when riches, and honours, and reputation are to be at- 
tained ; but where is the worldly reputation of him 
who o-oes, with his life in his hand, to make known in 
barbarous lands the glad tidings of salvation 1 Where 
are the honours and the money-bags of the mission- 
ary? In many cases, toil and anxiety, hunger and 
thirst, revihng and violence, danger and death await 
him ; but where is his earthly reward ? I want you 
to ply yourselves with these questions, and then I will 
ask you if you have ever done any thing for the mis- 
sionary cause 1 

We will not quarrel about which of the missionary 
institutions is most entitled to support. Let your own 
conscience decide that question for you. Support 
them all if God has blessed you with the ability ; but, 
at least, neglect not to do something for one of them, 
lest you should be held guilty of overlooking the igno- 
rance and darkness of those who live without God in 



154 ON AIDING THE MISSIONARY CAUSE. 

the world, knowing nothincr of the grace of the Re- 
deeuier. 

Are you rich? If so, have a care ; for where much 
is gi\en, much will be required. Riches have not 
only their power, but their responsibility also. You 
have read how hard it is for a rich man to enter 
the kingdom of heaven ! You have heard the injunc- 
tion, *' Make to yourselves friends of the mammon of 
unrighteousness, that ye may be received into ever- 
lasting habitations !" Come, come ! let Old Hum- 
phrey do you a kindness, by persuading you to be li- 
beral to the missionary cause. Never is a man more 
successfully employed in promoting the welfare of his 
own soul, than when engaged in doing good to the 
souls of others. 

Are you poor ? Never mind that, you must be poor 
indeed if you have not a prayer in your heart for the 
heathen ; and if you have a prayer for them in your 
heart, you will soon have a penny for them in your 
hand. I have just been reading of an old woman who 
was so very poor, that she could not spare even a 
penny to assist the missionaries, though her heart 
was in the cause ; but mind ye, " where there is a 
will, there is a way." She was a spinner of yarn, 
and, knowing no better plan, she determined to spin 
an extra hank of yarn every week, and thus contribute 
her penny to the good cause. Come, come ! let us 
imitate the old woman in her labour of love ; let us 
spin another hank of yarn, and give another penny to 
the missionary cause. 

There are hundreds who, when invited to make 



ON AIDING THE MISSIONARY CAUSE. 155 

ihomselves useful, when required to put their shoulder 
to the wheel, iheir hand to tlie plough, or their fingers 
into their purses, begin " with one consent to make 
excuse." They really have so many things to attend 
to, and already give so much away, that it is not in 
their power to do or bestow more for the glory of God, 
and the welfare of their fellow-men. Now, if it be 
really the case with you, that you go to the extent of 
your means. Old Humphrey has not another word to 
say about the matter ; but if you talk thus merely to 
excuse yourselves, if you cavil at the cause you are 
urged to support, merely to prevent the parting with 
a small portion of your abundance, look to yourselves, 
for you stand in slippery places. 

Bear in mind that the missionary work will go on 
whether you assist or forbear. Impediments there 
are, but they will be overcome, for the heathen will 
be a portion of the inheritance of the Redeemer, and 
" the uttermost part of the earth his possession." As 
one has well asked, " Will the stream of the water of 
life, pouring forth its healing influences in the east 
and the west, the north and the south, stop, because a 
jutting crag occasions a transitory eddy ? Will the 
triumphant chariot of the Omnipotent God stand still, 
because a few pebbles are heard crackling beneath its 
wheels ?" No ! the missionary cause cannot be ar- 
rested, you cannot weaken it by your backwardness, 
though you may strengthen it by your aid. 

Over and over again have 1 observed, that those 
who are the first to tell the a^ed beffsar to ffo to his 
parish, are the last to pay the parish-rates ; and those 



156 ON AIDING THE MISSIONARY CAUSE. 

who s.ic forward to condemn the missionary cause 
abroad, saying, " Charity begins at home," are the 
most backward to assist in spreading the gospel, or in 
opening their purses for the benefit of the poor of their 
own neighbourhood. Depend upon it, you will never 
have your sick bed, nor your dying hour embittered 
by the thought that you have done your part to send 
the missionary, and the Bible, to the heathen world, 
though I am not quite so certain that the conscious- 
ness of having neglected to do so will not create a 
parting pang. 

M-^.ny I have known who have done too much for 
their own selfish gratifications ; but never have I met 
with one who had done too much for God's glory. 
Show me a man that loves his Bible, and I will show 
you one that would delight to spread Bibles all over 
the world. Show me a man whose soul magnifies the 
Lord, and whose spirit rejoices in God his Saviour, 
and I will show you one whose heart will leap with- 
in him to lend a helping hand to the missionary, that 
he may go forth and proclaim glad tidings of great 
joy to all the people on the face of the earth. If, 
then, you have any pity for the sinner, and love for 
the Saviour, promote the missionary cause. 

It is a glorious sight to see a merchantman under 
weigh, her sails filled with the breeze, and her colours 
flying in the winds of heaven ! She goes not forth 
carrying thunder and lightning to blast the image of 
God in desolating war, but to bear abroad the bless- 
ings of peace. Her cargo is to benefit the bodies and 
souls of men ; our merchandize and our missionaries 



NO QUACKERY. 157 

may go together. Here may be seen on board the 
same ship, a wrapper of flannel and a bundle of reli- 
gious tracts ; there a bale of cloth, and yonder a box 
full of Bibles ! 

Old Humphrey cannot help urging you to join hand 
and heart in the missionary cause. Shall the negro 
lift up his emancipated hands in prayer, and the Hot- 
tentot and the Gaffer unite in praise ? Shall the Hin- 
doo and the Cingalese forsake their idolatry, and the 
inhabitants of the southern sea rejoice in the hope of 
eternal life, and you have no share in the work ? Will 
not you bid them God speed by your benevolence, 
and tell them that you are men and brethren by your 
exertions in their favour ? Yes, yes ! you may never 
be moved by the feeble A'oice of Old Humphrey, but 
you will not, you must not, you cannot resist the ap- 
peal of millions of fellow-beings from across the heav- 
ing ocean, who are destitute of the means of grace, 
and the hope of glory. 



NO QUACKERY. 



Come, listen to me, my poor neighbours, for I am 
neither going to rail against you for any thing wrong 
that you have done, nor to wheedle and cajole you 
for my own advantage. The end I have in view is 
your good, and in bringing it about I am neither seek- 
ing to get another pig in my sty, nor another sovereign 
in my pocket. Come, neighbours, listen to reason : 

14 



158 NO QUACKERY. 

when a quack doctor sells his prescription, however 
much he may puff it, and praise it, he may think more 
of getting your money, than of doing you good ; but 
how a doctor can get anything, who makes no charge 
for his advice, and prescribes physic that may be had 
for nothing, it vi^ill be no easy thing to make out. 

It may be that you have good health, and have no 
need, according to your own opinion, of my advice, 
but good health is worth keeping, and the medicine I 
recommend, is as useful in preserving as in restoring 
health. Try a dose or two, and if you do not find 
yourself the better for it, tell me that I am an ignorant 
impostor. 

Perhaps you may ask me what cures my medicine 
has wrought, and if you do, I have an answer ready. 
It has given to thousands, whose bodies were weakly, 
and whose faces were almost as pale as a white-wash- 
ed wall, — it has given them, I say, strength, a firm 
step, and a ruddy cheek : if this does not satisfy you, 
I know not what will. 

If you like either to remain as you are, or unneces- 
sarily to spend your money in being made better, the 
fault will be your own ; you may be made better if you 
are ill, and kept in health if well, without the expense 
of a single farthing. 

I am not speaking to those who have broken limbs, 
fever, and other heavy afflictions, but to such as are 
capable of moving from one place to another, and to 
them I say. Take fresh air. 

You may smile if you will at my prescription, but 
fresh air is one of the most precious gifts of the Al- 



NO QUACKERY. 159 

mighty, the merciful Giver of unnumbered blessings ; 
it costs nothing, and it is by far the best medicine in 
the world. 

Listen to me, neighbours, and I will tell you what 
will do you no harm to hear. In a little garret, in a 
small house, in a narrow street, worked a tailor. His 
shop-board and his bed almost filled the room, and yet 
there were four or five flower-pots close to the win- 
dow, a canary in a cage hanging from the ceiling, and 
a rabbit in a pen against the wall. 

The tailor rose early, and took late rest, eating the 
bread of carefulness, but could hardly make both ends 
meet, for he was sickly, and weakly, and qualmy, as 
well he might be, and could not get on at his work ; 
he seemed to have no spirit. When I called upon 
him, I did not wonder at his being sickly, and weakly, 
and qualmy ; I should have wondered very much had 
it been otherwise, for what with the room being so 
small, and what with the bed, the shop-board, the 
flower-pots, the bird-cage, the rabbit-pen, and the 
clothes and remnants, and shreds and patches, it seem- 
ed wonderful to me how he was able to work at all, 
for he seldom left his garret, rarely opened his win- 
dow, and breathed the same tainted air day and night. 

To make short of a long story, I undertook to cure 
him, or rather, I undertook to give him advice, for none 
but the Greater and Preserver of men can establish 
our health, or add to the number of our days. 

Sickly and pale, and panting for breath, as the tailor 
was, I made him change his lodging to an airy situa- 
tion. No flower-pot, bird-cage, or rabbit-pen, did I 



160 NO QUACKERY. 

allow in his chamber ; his window was almost always 
kept open, and an hour every day he breathed the 
fresh air of heaven in walking abroad. He is now as 
hearty a man as ever used a needle ; enjoys more 
health, works fewer hours, and gets more money, than 
ever he did before in his life ; and what is better than 
all, finds time to read his Bible, thanking God heartily 
for his manifold mercies, and among them for the bene- 
j&t and blessing of fresh air. 

Neighbours, be advised ; open your doors and your 
windows, get out of your houses, walk about, and take 
fresh air. 

A hard-working cobbler, who was heard thumping 
away at his lapstone before his neighbours were up in 
the morning, and seen stitching away with his awl and 
wax-ends after they were gone to bed at night, found 
himself just in the same plight as the poor tailor, low 
and languishing, just dragging along, as though he had 
no heart and soul in him. His room was small enough 
of all conscience, if he had had it all to himself; but 
this was not the case : for, besides the space taken up 
by his working bench and bed, he had with him a wife 
and four children, a black terrier, and a jackdaw in a 
wicker cage. 

Neighbours, I cannot tell you one-half of the 
wretchedness of that wretched room, when i stepped 
into it ; scraps of leather, old rags, bones and filth, 
were seen in all directions ; the dog barked, the jack- 
daw chattered, the children cried, the wife scolded, 
and the poor, patient, half-wornout cobbler could hard- 
ly pull his wax-end through the holes his awl had 



NO QUACKERY. 161 

made. To finish the picture, a gin-bottle stood in the 
corner, a dozen pawn tickets were wrapped up in a 
piece of dirty flannel, in the little cupboard, the win- 
dow was close shut, and the stench of the room was 
intolerable. Neighbours, you may think this was a 
hopeless case, but 1 thought otherwise, and went to 
work at once. 

No peace did I let the old cobbler have till I had 
fairly ransacked and routed every thing out of his mis- 
erable dwelling, where for many a weary day and night 
he had gasped for breath, parboiled and smoke-dried 
by turns, till his flesh looked just the colour of dirty 
dough. I took him to the tailor, who told him a story 
that made him lift up his eyes with surprise. The 
cobbler's bed was removed into an airy garret, his 
working-room thoroughly swept and whitewashed, the 
window set open, the black terrier and the jackdaw 
sent away, the children put to a day-school, the wife 
employed up-stairs, the gin bottle used to contain vine- 
gar, and the pawn tickets exchanged for the articles 
written upon them. 

Nor was this all ; for the cobbler was not allowed to 
sit down to his bench for a single moment till he had 
walked to the finger-post on the common, a distance of 
a mile and a half across the fields. 

Neighbours, the cobbler is another man : he drinks 
no gin, he pawns no clothes, he keeps no terrier dog 
nor jackdaw, but breathes freely, works blithely, while 
he sings a hymn or a psalm, pays his rent like a man, 
reads his Bible every day of his life, and looks as 
fresh as a daisy. 

14* 



162 NO QUACKERY. 

Now, what has done all this for him ? nothing in the 
world but fresh air. This, with God's blessing, has 
been the making of him, and why should it not be the 
making of you ? Rout out your cupboards and closets, 
sweep out your floors, whitewash your walls, and open 
your windows ; but, above all, get into the fields, and 
breathe the fresh air. 

Are you so fond of weakly frames and pale faces ? 
Do you like to see pill-boxes and phials and gally-pots ? 
Is it pleasant to swallow salts, and rhubarb, and ipeca- 
cuanha, and to pay doctors' bills ? If it is, heed not 
■what I say ; but if it is not, take my advice ; take my 
prescription — take fresh air. 

Neighbours, I am no quack, but a plain-dealing man, 
gratefully enjoying the blessing of health, and anxious 
that all of you may enjoy it too. Fresh air will not 
only improve the health, but the temper also, so that 
a man will laugh at the little troubles that before made 
him fume and fret like a madman. The good that is 
done, and the evil that is prevented by fresh air, are 
beyond calculation. 

Doctors usually recommend fresh air, even when 
all their skill and all their medicines have failed, and 
this is a proof how highly they think of it. 

Let this open your eyes, neighbours ; doctors know 
what they are about, and you ought to know what you 
are about too. If you prefer to call in a doctor, and 
to pay him for advising you to take fresh air, I can 
have no possible objection, neither will the doctor 
blame you for this course ; but whether it will be wise 



ON MOUNTEBANKS. 163 

in you to buy that which I give you for nothing, is a 
point worth a moment's consideration. 

Take my word for it, or rather do not take my word 
for it, but prove it, fresh air is the best medicine in the 
world. If I were called upon to write a prescription 
to cure three-fourths of this world's ails, it should be 
this — Plain food, temperance^ exercise, fresh air, a clean 
skin, a contented mind, and a clear conscience. 

There, neighbours ! there is advice without any 
quackery ; take it, make the best of it, and may the 
blessing of good health be enjoyed by you all, and the 
^Oreat Author of your mercies be ever loved, and ever 
■praised ! 



ON MOUNTEBANKS. 



If you happen to have a few spare minutes at your 
disposal, listen to the remarks of an old man. 

It was in the days of my youth, — those days have 
long since gone by, — that I went, for the first time, to 
see a mountebank. 

Let me see : it must be many a long year since then. 
I was at school, and have reason to remember it, being 
sent to bed supperless for venturing out of bounds ; 
the only time in my life that I ever ate a cold potatoe. 

Well, I saw the mountebank's stage, and his bottles 
of physic, and his full boxes, and heard him say that 
he could feed a man fat, or peel the flesh oflf his bones 
which he pleased, in half an hour. 



164 ON MOUNTEBANKS. 

Thinks I, he had better begin with himself, foi he 
has more flesh upon him than any three of us. Such 
a tun of a man, in a fiery red waistcoat, I never had 
seen before ; he was fit to be put into a show. 

All of a sudden he stript off his coat, and pulled off 
his red waistcoat too, but he looked almost as fine as 
before, for he had a yellow waistcoat under it. Off 
came the yellow one, and then he had a blue one, and 
a green one, and an orange one, and a purple one, till 
I almost thought that he was made of waistcoats. 

He went on in this way for a quarter of an hour, 
pulling off waistcoats enough for twenty or thirty peo- 
ple, till he began to look, as we say, as thin as a her- 
ring. The folks laughed very heartily, but I hardly 
knew what to make of it. Well, thinks I, he has 
come to the last now, surely ; but no, he still went on 
till he seemed more like a skeleton than a fat man. 
Nothing was left of the fat fellow we had seen, save 
a shrivelled, pale-face, weasel-bodied, thread-paper of 
a man, with a heap of gaudy rags lying beside him. 

I did not know then, though I have since found it 
out, that men play the mountebank, not on a stage 
alone, but in all situations of life, and most likely you 
have seen the same thing. What a mercy it is, when 
we are enabled to set aside our follies and our foolish- 
nesses, and juggling of all kinds, and are content, as 
simple-minded men, to be guided by God's word, ra- 
ther than by our own wayward will ! 

Perhaps you may know a proud man, thinking more 
highly of himself than he ought to think ; puffed up 
beyond his natural size with notions of his own im- 



^ ON MOUNTEBANKS. 165 

portance. Why, what a mountebank he must be ! 
He may strut about for a little while, and set people 
gaping, but, by and by, he will be stript of his gaudy 
waistcoating. He will fall into trouble, and be but the 
shadow of what he is now. 

You may, haply, know a strong man too, exulting 
in his own strength, as though God had had nothing 
to do with forming him from the dust. For a season 
he may be as a giant among his fellows, but when God 
put forth his hand, and touches him, like Samson, he 
will lose his strength, and become as another man. 
He has played the mountebank, and must be stript in 
his turn. 

The rich man often eats and drinks so freely, and 
clothes himself so profusely, that he cuts an imposing 
figure ; he becomes high and mighty, taking up more 
than his neighbours, but, by and by, his riches will 
make to themselves wings, and fly away, or he will 
fly away from them. He has acted the mountebank 
long enough, and must shrink to his natural dimen- 
sions. 

The mountebank on the stage only puffed himself 
up for the passing hour, to set folks laughing ; but the 
characters I have described, puff" themselves up for 
their whole lives. Death is a remorseless stripper ; 
he will net leave a waistcoat upon any of them. 

But there is a mountebank worse than these. The 
hypocrite, whose hope shall perish, and be cut oflf like 
a spider's web. The self-righteous Pharisee, who 
decorates himself with the rags of his own affected 
holiness, and passes with others for what he is not. 



166 ON VISITING. 

He covers the leanness of his soul with pretended de- 
votion and heartless observances, to impose upon his 
fellow-sinners, but there is a stripping time coming for 
him also. 

1 am a man of peace, yet I say, fight sword in 
hand against pride and vanity, and especially against 
hypocrisy. A mountebank in holy things must be an 
unhallowed mountebank indeed. Deceive not your- 
self by deceiving others. Remember you cannot de- 
ceive God. Say not either temporally or spiritually, 
" I am rich and increased with goods, and have need 
of nothing," lest you should be stripped suddenly, and 
found to be " wretched and miserable, and poor, and 
blind, and naked." 



ON VISITING. 



It may be that you are fond of visiting, and visits 
not made too frequently are good things, for we are all 
social creatures, and cannot be happy alone ; but, 
whom do you visit ? If you visit the wise you will 
" become wiser," and " wisdom is the principal thing ; 
therefore get wisdom ; and with all thy getting get un- 
derstanding," If you visit the foolish, you will be 
sure to increase in folly, for " he that walketh with 
wise men shall be wise, but the companion of fools 
shall be destroyed." Prov. xiii. 20. Perhaps you may 
visit the rich ; but if so, have a care, for you are 
treading in " slippery places ;" if you do not keep 



ON VISITING. 167 

pace with them in expeiices, they will despise you ; 
and if you do, you will soon have reason to despise 
yourself. If you must visit the rich, let your visits be 
" few and far between," and if a proper opportunity 
occur, in a respectful manner and kind-hearted spirit, 
" charge them that are rich in this world that they be 
not high-minded, nor trust in uncertain riches, but in 
the living God, who giveth us richly all things to en- 
joy." 1 Tim. vi. 17. 

Perhaps you visit the gay, but here, again, you must 
be careful, for gaiety is as catching as the plague, and 
it may unfit you for the more sober duties of common 
life. If I were to ask whether you spent as much 
lime on your knees in communion with God, as you 
do before the glass in preparation to meet your fellow- 
creature, you might not like to answer the question ; 
but remember that God knows how the matter stands 
with you in this and all other respects. 

But whether you visit the wise, the foolish, the rich, 
or the gay, I do hope that you " visit the fatherless 
and widows in their affliction," James i. 27 ; that you 
tenderly pity and relieve them as far as you can. " It 
is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to 
the house of feasting," Eccl. vii. 2. In our visiting, 
we should not only bear in mind our present pleasure, 
but our future profit; and though it may flatter our 
vanity now, to think we have visited those above our 
situation, it will be abundantly better, at a future pe- 
riod, to hear the words, " Come, ye blessed of my 
Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the 
foundation of the world ; for I was an hungered, and 



168 ON VISITING. 

ye give me meat ; I was thirsty, and ye gave me 
«^rink ; I vi^as a stranger, and ye took me in ; naked, 
und ye clothed me ; I was sick, and ye visited me ; 
1 was in prison, and ye came unto me ; for " inas 
much as ye have done it unto one of the least of these 
my brethren, ye have done it unto me," Matt. xxv. 
34—40. 

But, having asked you whom you visit, let me now 
ask, who visits you ? for if care be required in visiting 
others, the same care is requisite in being visited by 
them ; therefore, again I ask, who visits you ? 

It cannot be desirable to be visited by the foolish,, 
and it is better to be visited by the wise, than by the> 
rich or gay ; for the former will leave something be- 
hind them worth possessing, while the latter, if they 
deprive you of nothing else, will be sure to take away 
a portion of your time and your means. 

If the aged visit you, they may benefit you by their 
experience ; and if the young visit you, you may bene- 
fit them with yours. Let your visitors be such as are- 
likely to do you good, or such as are likely to receive 
good from you. 

No doubt you have unwelcome visitors, such as 
your landlord on quarter-day, if you are not ready for 
him ; the tax-gatherer, when you are in arrears with 
him ; and perhaps a neighbour, to solicit a trifle for 
some one in distress ; but you must make the best of 
these visitors, for your landlord has a right to his rent, 
you ought to pay your fair share of the taxes, and 
charity is a virtue that no Christian should live with- 
out exercising. 



PERHAPS YOU WILL THINK OF IT. 169 

You are visited too, at times, no doubt, v/ith afflic- 
tions, losses, vexations, disappointments, and bereave- 
ments ; but if yon enjoy the advantages that others 
enjoy, is it hard that you should endure the afflictions 
that others endure ? Earthly trouble is not easily 
borne without heavenly assistance ; but if we could 
discern invisible things, every true believer would see 
the hand of his heavenly Father weighing out to him, 
even to the scruple, the joys and sorrows that he re- 
quires, and cannot do without. 

Among your visitors do you reckon profitable and 
religious publications ? and if so, do you derive any 
advantage from them ? Does their'tone suit you, their 
science instruct you, their information interest you, 
their morality do you good, and their piety draw you 
to the consideration of heavenly things ? If not, there 
must be something wrong in them or in you. But, 
lastly, have you been visited with His presence, com- 
pared with whom earthly things are as dust and dross ? 
Has " the day-spring from on high" Luke i. 78, visited 
you ? and can it be said by you and your household, 
" The Lord of hosts hath visited his flock," verily, 
" God hath visited his people ?" 



PERHAPS YOU WILL THINK OF IT. 

"VVhile eating my mid-day meal, a sudden feeling 
of thankfulness came upon me as I called to mind the 
unceasing regularity with which my wants were sup- 

15 



170 PERHAPS YOU WILL THINK OF IT. 

plied. In the frozen climes of the north, the half- 
famisheJ Indian had, doubtless, wandered far for food ; 
in the sultry regions of the east, the Arab must have 
roamed over spacious tracts in quest of water, while 
bread had constantly been given me, and water had 
been sure. It was a customary thing to have a table 
spread before me, but it was an unusual thing for me 
to feel truly thankful. Do you ever pass days, weeks, 
and months, without feeling your heart glow with gra- 
titude for your daily food? What if the Father of 
mercies were to send a constant famine, wherein 
there should never be sufficient earing and harvest 
again for ever ? He might do this ; the very thought 
is enough to make us value our bits and drops. Per- 
haps you will think of it. 

It was during one of the last cold, misty, and mise- 
rable days, that I was far from my home without my 
great coat. I mounted a coach to ride home, with 
the rain and sharp wind full in my teeth, so that I ab- 
solutely shivered with cold. A hundred times have I 
piit on my great coat without any grateful emotion for 
the comfort of clothes, and perhaps you have done the 
same thing. What if the Giver of all good should, in 
his providence, cut off every means of supplying our- 
selves with clothing, by destroying the flocks and 
blighting vegetation ! The thought is enough to make 
us bless God, with the liveliest ardour, for our rai- 
ment. Perhaps you will think of it. 

It may be that you were out in the open air the se- 
verest day of the frost. It was intensely cold, and 
seemed to freeze, not only one's breath, but almost 



PERHAPS YOU WILL THINK OF IT. 171 

one's very thoughts. Few days are more pleasant to 
those who have heaUh and spirits, and who can move 
about with alacrity, than a fine frosty day ; but for all 
that, when night comes on, and the tea-kettle begins 
to sing, it is doubly pleasant to draw near a cheerful, 
spirit-stirring fire. 1 found it so, and gratefully rejoi- 
ced in the delightful glow that spread throughout my 
frame. How many times have I warmed myself at 
the cheerful hearth without thankfulness ! Has this 
been the case with you ? What if the great Governor 
of the universe should command the supply of coal to 
fail, so that fuel should never again be abundant for 
ever ! The thought almost makes me quake with 
cold, and should render us more thankful for the bless- 
ing of fire. Perhaps you will think of it. 

The other day I looked at my Bible as it lay on 
the sideboard, and thought to myself how much I neg- 
lected it. What is a chapter or two in the morning 
and another at night, said I ! why, if I looked upon 
it as the gift of God, given to me to warn me from 
evil, to console me in trouble, to direct me in difficulty, 
and to guide me to glory, I should prize it as a trea- 
sure, and commune with it continually as with a 
friend. Do you ever neglect your Bible ? What a 
punishment it would be to us both, if an angel were 
sent down from heaven to close the leaves of the Bi- 
ble for ever from our view ! The thought is enough 
to make us value the Bible. Perhaps you will think 
of It. 

My thoughts sadly wandered yesterday morning as 
I sat in the house of the Most High, while the minis- 



173 PERHAPS YOTT WILL THINK OF IT. 

ter was preaching his sermon. Do your thoughts ever 
wander under the sound of the gospel? What, if the 
messenger of the Most High were sent down to close 
God's house, and to seal up the mouth of his faithful 
ministers for ever ! This is a solemn thought, is it 
not ? enough to make us anxiously attentive to every 
word spoken by a faithful minister. Perhaps you will 
think of it. 

A short time ago, I kneeled down, in a hurried man- 
ner, to offer up, my morning praise and petitions at a 
throne of grace, and, after a few words, hastily rose to 
pursue some worldly object which absorbed my atten- 
tion ; but my conscience smote me, and told me that I 
had offered an affront to the Lord of heaven. Do you 
ever hurry over your prayers ? What if the high and 
holy one should issue forth his unchangeable mandate, 
*' There shall no more prayer and supplication find 
favour at the mercy-seat henceforth for ever." What 
an overwhelming thought ! how precious it seems to 
nidke a throne of grace ! Perhaps you will think of it. 

How rare a circumstance it is for us to realize, even 
for a moment, in our thoughts, that eternal state of 
glory to which all true Christians are hastening. Not 
an hour ago I had a delightful anticipation of the 
heavenly Jerusalem. The city with the golden gates 
the innumerable multitude that no man can number, 
the saints with their crowns of gold were all before 
me, as well as the Lamb that was slain, seated on his 
eternal throne ; the golden harps resounded with ce- 
lestial harmony, and the heavenly hallelujahs rose in 
one grand chorus of thanksgiving and praise. How 



ON IDLLENESS. 173 

much do we think of earth, and how little do we en- 
courage thoughts of heaven ! at least it is so with 
me. How is it with you ? What if the Lord of life 
and glory were to proclaim, with a voice of thunder, 
the announcement, " None shall behold my glory in 
heaven who rejoice not in the expectation of sharing 
it, while yet they are on the earth." The thought 
should awaken the most sluggish faculties of our souls 
to heavenly anticipation. Perhaps you will think of it. 
We are too unmindful of what we owe the Father 
of mercies for the common blessings of food, raiment, 
and fire. We are too backward to improve the means 
of grace his goodness has provided for us, and too 
worldly to encourage the hope of eternal glory. If 
you are of opinion that this observation is just. Per- 
haps you will think of it. 



ON IDLENESS. 



Up and be doing, my friends ! up and be doing ! I 
have just been with an idle man, yet, idle as he is, he 
professes to be a seeker after Divine truth. Idleness 
is a sad thing. What ! have we feet, and shall we 
not walk ? Have we not hands and shall we not work ? 
We have more to do than we shall ever accomplish if 
we are industrious ; how, then, shall we get through 
it if we are idle 1 Every magpie building her nest, 
every spider weaving her web, every ant laying up 
for the winter, is a reproach to an idle man. 

15*. 



174" ON IDLENESS. 

Up and be doing, I say ; and do not expect the pot 
to boil while you let the fire go out. We must climb 
the hill to view the prospect ; we must sow the seed 
to reap the harvest ; we crack the nut to get at the 
kernel ; we must be diligent in spiritual things, if we 
wish to obtain spiritual blessings. 

One day, I called on an old woman, who had pared 
a few apples, and was making a little dough ; but she 
was one of those who, because God can do all things, 
foolishly think that we have nothing to perform. 
" Goody ! Goody !" said I, " it is in eternal as in tem- 
poral things, we are not to despise the means with which 
Divine mercy has favoured us. There are the apples, 
and there the dough : but if you do not put them tOr 
gether, aye, and pop them into the pot, too, you will 
have no dumpling for your dinner." 

I cannot bear your tattling, talking, interfering, 
busy bodies, attending to the affairs of others, and 
leaving their own duties undone ; but yet, it is a sad 
failing to go to sleep, where we ought to be wide 
awakv3 ; to be creeping and crawling like snails, when 
we ought to be bounding forward like greyhounds. 
It is a sad thing, 1 say, and we ought to be ashamed 
of it. 1 have known blind men and lame men, who, 
without an eye to see with, or a foot to stand upon, 
have done more for God's glory, and the good of their 
neighbours, than many of us who have the use of all 
our faculties. 

Up and be doing in temporal and spiritual things, 
and let not the grass grow under your feet ! Though 
the flesh be weak, if the spirit be willing, you will 



LINES IN THE ALBUM OF, ETC. 175 

not be happy in standing still. If you cannot hew 
wood, you may draw water. If you cannot preach in 
public, you can pray in private, and be striving to enter 
in, rather than waiting to be carried through, the strait 
gale that leadeth unto life. 

We can do nothing of ourselves, but all things with 
the sustaining strength and grace of the Redeemer. 
Let us not complain of poverty, with a mine of gold 
under our feet, let us not die of thirst, with a fountain 
of living waters within our reach. If we have health 
and strength, let us work for the bread that ptrishes ; 
and having the means of grace, let us be diligent to 
obtain that bread that is eternal. 



LINES IN THE ALBUM 

OF A SEEKER AFTER TRUTH. 

They tell me that you want a line under Old Hum- 
phrey's hand, written with his very own pen ; you 
shall have it, and if the warm wishes of his heart for 
your welfare will make it the more acceptable, you 
shall have them too. 

I am but a poor archer ; I cannot, like Robinhood 
of old, split a willow-wand at the distance of a hun- 
dred paces, yet, for all that, often have I taken aim at 
the human heart, and struck it in the very centre. 
Come ! stand fair ; let me see if I cannot strike yours. 



176 LINES IN THE ALBUM OF 

If I knew your good qualities, I would commend 
them, and encourage you to practise them more and 
more : if I knew your bad ones, and if you have not 
a great many of these you are not like Old Humphrey, 
I will reprove them with kindness, being too faulty 
myself to be justified in using severity. 

But what sort of a heart is this of yours, that I am 
now taking aim at ? Is it a perfectly good heart ? ah 
entirely pure heart 1 a constantly holy heart ? If so, 
there is but little chance of my hitting it, having never 
taken aim at such a thing before ; but if it be a proud 
heart, a deceitful heart, a wicked heart, such an one 
as is described in Scripture, and such an one as I feel 
that I have by nature, I shall manage the matter a 
little better. 

Who am I, a creature of infirmity, sinful dust and 
ashes, that I should take upon me to talk thus, and to 
point out to others the way they should go ? Rather 
ought I to be seeking that my own eyes might be 
opened, and my own feet kept from stumbling ; how- 
ever, let me proceed. I will try the effect of half-a- 
dozen arrows, and if no one of them should strike 
you, my archery will be at an end. 

Are you not proud 1 I think you are. Not that 
you wish to dress above your station, to hold up your 
head above your neighbours, or to plume yourself on 
account of your attainments ; that is not what I mean : 
but are you not proud in this respect, that you do not 
fully humble yourself to the dust before God, confess- 
ing yourself to be altogether an unprofitable servant ; 
adopting as your own the language of the royal psalm- 



A SEEKER AFTER TRUTH. 177 

ist, " I was shapen in iniquity, and in sin did my 
mother conceive me ?" Some undefined notion that 
you can do something to merit eternal glory, now and 
then creeps into your heart, making you feel reluctant 
to be saved entirely by unmerited mercy and redeem- 
ing grace. If you are not proud, to my reproach be it 
spoken, I am. 

Are you not wasteful ? Not of the food you eat, and 
the clothes you wear, but of time, which is more pre- 
cious than diamond dust ; and of your Christian privi- 
leges, which are far above the most costly rubies in 
value ? If you are not wasteful, I am. 

Are you not selfish ? Not that you covetously de- 
sire what belong to your neighbour, or that you would 
willingly add to your own happiness at the expense 
of that of others ; but does not your own good take 
precedence of God's glory ? Are not nine-tenths of 
your thoughts, your words, and your deeds, devoted to 
the furtherance of your worldly interest, and is it not 
a mere fragment of these things that you consecrate 
to the hallowed object of serving God, and extending 
the kingdom of the Redeemer ? If you are not selfish, 
I am. 

Are yoii not impatient ? Not towards your fellow- 
sinners, but towards your heavenly Father ? Do you 
not often rashly repine at his mysterious dispensations ? 
Are you not more desirous to change, to lessen, and 
remove the trials allotted to you by Divine wisdom, 
than you are to reap from them that lasting benefit 
which the sanctified chastisements of our heavenly 



178 LINES IN THE ALBUM, ETC. 

Father invariably impart ? If you are not impatient, 
I am. 

Are you not idolatrous? Not absolutely bowing 
down to stocks and stones ; you are neither accused 
nor suspected of this, neither do I believe that you 
bend your knee to a crucifix ; but is there no person 
or thing, possessed or hoped for by you, that is set up, 
like a golden image in your heart, receiving more ho- 
mage than is due to created things, and robbing the 
Lord of the glory due to his name 1 If you are not 
idolatrous, to my shame, I am. 

Are you not ungrateful ? Not to your earthly bene- 
factors and friends, but to your heavenly Friend and 
Benefactor, who has not only given you every com- 
fort you possess, but also his only Son, Jesus Christ, 
even to die on the cross for sinners ? What have you 
done for Him who has done all for you 1 With a 
pinching parsimony, you may have, now and then, 
praised the Lord for his goodness, but you have not 
given up what is due to him — every faculty of your 
body, soul, and spirit. If you are not ungrateful, I 
feel that I am. 

I have drawn my bow at a venture, and shot my ar- 
rows of accusation, but not in an unfriendly spirit : 
there may be a pleasure in pulling down a proud 
heart, but there is more pleasure in raising one that is 
humble, and binding up one that is bruised and broken. 

There ! you have now what you wanted, a line un 
der Old Humphrey's hand, written with his very own 
pen. In return for his good wishes, give him youi 
own. And now, whether his arrows have struck you, 



ON THE DUTY OF MAKING A WILL. 179 

or altogether missed the mark, give him credit for a 
kind intention. May goodness and mercy follow you 
all the days of your life, and may you dwell in the 
house of the Lord for ever ! 



ON THE 
DUTY OF MAKING A WILL.* 

When a prudent merchant consigns a vessel to the 
watery deep, he is mindful of the dangers it has to 
encounter, and accordingly, by insuring the cargo, he 
seeks to protect himself and all others interested 
therein from loss. And is the voyage of life less dan- 
gerous than a voyage over the deep? Is an immortal 
soul of less value than hogsheads of hardware, and 
bales of broad cloth ? Surely, as tempest-tost mari- 
ners, we ought, first, to secure ourselves from loss, by 
seeking a well-grounded hope of eternal life through 
Jesus Christ ; adid, secondly, to protect those dear to 
us from sustaining injury by our death, by making 
prudent arrangements in the event of our departure. 

* The new law respecting Wills, which is now in force, requires — 

1. The will or codicil to be signed at the foot or end thereof by the tes- 
tator. 

2. If he does not sign, it must be signed by some other person in his pre- 
Bence, or by his direction. 

3. The signature must be made or acknowledged by the testator, in the 
presence of two or more witnesses present at the same time. 

4. The witnesses must attest and subscribe the will or codicil in the pre- 
sence of the testator. 



180 ON THE DUTY OF 

You may say that this, or something like it, has 
been said a hundred times over ; and no doubt it has, 
and hkely enough it is to be repeated a hundred times 
more, but if I am not to speak till I say something 
absolutely new, I must become dumb. If I write no 
more till I can produce some striking novelty, my pen 
need no more be dipped into my inkstand. Experience 
will bear me out in the remark, that wisdom consists 
much more in impressing the minds of others with 
well-known truths, than in the production of novel 
opinions. They may be presented in a different form, 
yet are they essentially old. Though by shaking the 
kaleidoscope you obtain a new form, yet the materials 
which compose it are aKvays the same. 

But though my present observations may not be en- 
tirely new, I feel such a warmth gathering round my 
heart while I write them, that I do verily persuade 
myself that my remarks will meet the eyes of those 
who will not despise them ; nay, more, that there are 
some who will regard them with favour, read them 
with respect, ponder over them with attention, and 
practise what they recommend. 

Do I speak proudly ? No ! no ! Proud I am, to my 
reproach, but not at this moment. High-minded I may 
be, but not iwW. If I can see my own heart through 
its manifold infirmities, its present object is simply and 
singly to drop a seasonable word, which, with God's 
blessing, may take away from a death-bed, anxiety and 
confusion, and add something to the comforts of the 
widow and the fatherless. 

I have been reading over again, for the fourth or 



MAKING A WILL. 181 

fifth time, a little book called " Testamentary coun- 
sels," and much of what I have to say has been taken 
from that volume, or been suggested by it. Old Humph- 
rey is under great obligations to wiser and better men 
than himself, whose writings have often come home 
to his heart, sometimes pouring a cordial into it that it 
greatly needed, and sometimes planting an arrow there 
that was needed still more. On such occasions, he 
has felt drawn towards the writer with cords of affec- 
tion, and long to shake him by the hand, especially if 
his spirit appeared influenced by kindness, rather than 
severity. It may be that you have felt a little of this 
drawing towards me ; you have not pictured me with 
a frowning brow, and a churlish heart, but rather as 
one, who, being feelingly persuaded of his own infir- 
mities, looks on his fellow-sinners with tenderness 
and affection. May you, in this instance, not be wrong 
in your conjectures ! 

I have before me a very important object, and as a 
man can hardly be expected to do a thing in a tolera- 
ble manner, unless he go about it in his own way, I 
want you to bear with me a little, and to be somewhat 
indulgent to me. Let an old man have his old 
fashions. lg^ 

I shall not beat about the bush, but asK you a plain 
question at once, in my customary downright way, I 
am not about to say that I hope you have done this, 
and I trust you have done that and the other ; my 
question is, Have you made your will ? If you have, 
and if you have made it conscientiously and prudently, 
my inquiry will not annoy you ; but if you have not, I 

16 



182 ON THE DUTY OF 

wish to stick to you like a leech, and to sting you like 
a nettle. 

You may be among the many who habitually put 
off till to-morrow what ought to be done to-day, and if 
so, no doubt you will have plenty of reasons to assign 
for procrastination. Making a will, you may say, is 
an important thing, and requires much reflection : you 
have a friend to consult ; you quite agree that it is 
necessary, and, indeed, you have been thinking of it 
for some time ; it is, really, your intention to be in earn- 
est about the matter. But all this is very like shuffling. 
These lame attempts to excuse the non-performance 
of an imperative duty will not parry my home-thrust 
— Have you made your will ? 

I wish my word to go to your very heart ; yet, far 
be it from me to bluster and to call you names, even 
if you have never thought of making your will. It 
would but ill become one whose infirmities cling to 
him as a garment, and who sensibly feels his own 
backwardness in the discharge of manifold duties, to 
indulge in bitterness against a procastinating brother. 
Rather would I, in an affectionate spirit, point out how 
cruelly you are acting to yourself in thus gathering 
thorns for your dying pillow. 

If you have a wife and children, and relations and 
friends, I suppose that you bear them some affection ; 
and if so, surely you had rather they should dwell in 
peace than in discord, and that if they should outlive 
you, they should love rather than hate your memory. 
By making a will, you will prove that their welfare is 
an object of your desire ; by neglecting to do so, you 



MAKING A WILL. 183 

will show that their happiness is with you an object 
of very little consideration. 

Many, very many, tremble at the thought of making 
a will. Some time ago, a worthy woman was bereav- 
ed of her husband ; he was taken suddenly away as 
many are. The widow was anxious that what proper- 
ty she had should be enjoyed after her decease by two 
nieces, to whom she was much attached ; but this was 
not likely to happen unless she made her will, and to 
this she had a strong objection. It was in vain that 
her professional adviser urged her to bequeath her 
property, and pointed out that if she neglected to do 
so, it would go to one who was unworthy to enjoy it ; 
still she could not bear the thought of making her will. 
While in the office of her professional friend, she 
trembled from head to foot with apprehension ; and 
when the will was sent home to her, terror again pre- 
vented her from signing her name to it. Superstitious 
fears bind many in iron chains : the widow thought 
signing her will was like signing her death-warrant ; 
and even though her life was soon afterwards placed 
in jeopardy by a sudden fire, which burst out where 
she lived, her last will and testament was unattended 
to ; neither her danger nor her merciful preservation 
influenced her to sign her will. 

You will not die sooner for having made your will 
though the distraction arising in a season of sickness 
from not having made it, may fever your mind and 
your body, and hurry you off to your grave. I speak 
with reverence, and under submission to the Divine 
will. Now you may bear my enquiry ; but if it should 



184 ON THE DUTY OF 

only be whispered by your doctor into your dying ear, 
it may fall like a thunder-clap on your aching head at 
a season when you would give the world to do what 
you may be incapable to perform. 

Think, for a moment, on his situation, who, having 
for years added house to house, and field to field, and 
laid up large stores for earthly enjoyment, without a 
thought of dissolution, is suddenly called upon hur- 
riedly to divide his possessions ? Not an hour can he 
purchase at any price. The fever is upon him, his 
blood-shot eye looks fearful ; he draws his breath with 
difficulty ; his pulse is a hundred and twenty ; he cries 
out for water, and turns to his physician for comfort, 
but, as he strains his aching eyeballs in an attempt to 
catch a word of consolation, he meets the inquiry, 
" Have you made your will ?" The very words are 
the icy wind of death ; they chill and curdle the life 
current of his heart ; they pronounce his doom. Oh 
had he made his will, it would have been some con- 
solation ; it might have prevented his present parox- 
ysm ; but, no ! he neglected it, and now it is too late. 

1 hope that you will not be ranked among those. 

" Who toil for heirs they know not who, 
And straight are seen no more. 

" Beware of covetousness !" Hoard not up guilty 
riches to your condemnation. Let not your growing 
possessions be witnesses against you at the final hour. 
A coffin-full, yea, a grave-full of gold will not gain 
you admittance at the gate of heaven. Whether you 
think so or not, you are but a steward over your earth- 
ly possessions ; your stewardship extends to the pro- 



MAKING A WILL. 185 

per use of wealth during your life, and the just distri- 
bution of it at the time of your decease. Be not an 
unjust steward ; whether you have ten talents or five 
committed to your care, use them profitably, and make 
your will, that your property may be rightly distributed 
after your death. 

Perhaps you will be turning round to me to inquire 
if I have made my will, and if you do, a plain answer 
shall be given. It would be a little out of character 
in me to talk of freeholds and funded property, of 
Scotch and Irish estates, of shares in the mining, dock, 
and rail-road companies. I need no steward to man- 
age my affairs. The largest park I have will not oc- 
cupy me long in riding around it, and my habitation is 
not at all likely to be mistaken for Apsley House, or 
the mansion of the Duke of Sutherland : but the small 
portion of this world's gear that I may call my own, 
is conscientiously allotted in case of my departure. 
Sometimes I am foolish enough to wish for wealth, 
for there are many ends I desire to compass, acts of 
friendship that I would requite, and feelings of affec- 
tion that I would willingly embody in actions ; but, as 
a Scottish writer has well expressed himself, " God 
kens what is good for us better than we ken our- 
selves." 

To say nothing of other things, Old Humphrey has 
received so many acts of individual kindness, that he 
would much rather devote a dozen skins of parchment 
to their acknowledgement and liquidation, than that his 
will should be cribbed up into the contracted space 
that it now occupies. 

16* 



186 ON THE DUTY OF 

You know as well as 1 do that our life is but " a va- 
pour ;" you know that what with natural decay, acci- 
dents, and the " thousand ills that flesh is heir to," there 
is " but a step between us and death." If then the 
message should suddenly be signified to you, " This 
night thy soul shall be required, of thee," should you 
be satisfied to leave what property you have, be it lit- 
tle or much, without any arrangement as to its distri- 
bution? Now be honest to yourself; put the question 
to your own heart, and give an upright answer. If 
you can add to the comfort and peace of your wife and 
children, by doing what you have hitherto delayed, set 
about it. It will break none of your bones to make 
your will ; it will not disturb your night's slumber, but, 
on the contrary, minister to your repose. 

If you have a wife whom you love make your will, 
lest she fall into the hands of those who may treat her 
harshly. If you have children whom you love, make 
your will, that they may know the portion that falleth 
to them. If you have poor relations, make your will, 
that you may not, in shutting up your bowels of com- 
passion against them, and neglecting them, do an act 
of injustice ; and if you have faithful servants, who 
are not only worthy of their hire, but of your respect, 
make your will, that they may know you have not been 
unmindful of their fidelity. 

It may be that God has blessed you abundantly in 
worldly goods ; and if so, it will especially become 
you, living and dying, to remember his cause, and to 
promote his glory. There are religious institutions al- 
most without number, that require assistance, and be 



MAKING A WILL. 187 

nevolent societies almost standing still for want of aid. 
I will not tell you that your money, give of it what 
you may, and in what manner you choose, will con- 
vert a soul, or restore a languishing body from a couch 
of sickness, but 1 say that you ought gladly to give ; 
and highly honoured will you be, if God, of his gra- 
ciousness and condescending mercy, shall be pleased 
to accompany your gift with his blessing to the souls 
and bodies of his creatures. 

It is not my object to tell you how you should make 
your will, but only to convince you that you ought to 
make it ; for the former purpose, the little book of 
which I have already spoken will give you excellent 
counsel, 

I hardly know whether I should succeed if I were 
to attempt to pass myself off as being very learned in 
the law. I might begin by telling you that " wills are 
of very high antiquity," that they were " in use among 
the ancient Hebrews," that " Jacob bequeathed to his 
son Joseph a portion of his inheritance double to that 
of his brethren," and that " Solon was the first legisla- 
tor who introduced wills into Athens, though in other 
parts of Greece, and in different countries, they were 
totally discountenanced ;" but you would soon begin 
to suspect the truth, that Old Humphrey was building 
on another man's foundation, and affecting to be wise 
with the knowledge he had filched from another. 

The only rule that I will venture to give you, in 
making your will, is this ; after fervent supplication at 
the throne of grace for Divine guidance, make it con- 
scientiously, with an eye to futurity, so that if you 



188 ON THE DUTY OF 

knew that all your connexions were to meet you at the 
throne of the Eternal in an hour after your signing, 
sealing, and delivery, you would not wish it altered. 

Great mistakes have been made by many in believ- 
ing unfavourable reports of their relatives and friends, 
and allowing prejudices and resentments to influence 
them in the bequeathment of their property. If you 
are in a proper spirit for making your will, you will 
look with a forbearing and merciful eye on all who 
have a reasonable claim on your remembrance. 

Our earthly comfort is greatly promoted by the good 
conduct of faithful domestics. If you know the value 
of good servants, you will not be unmindful of them 
in your will, admitting that, consistently with prior 
claims, you have the ability to do them a kindness. 

" A worthy man had served a country shop-keeper 
and his son for nearly forty years. He was the tried 
servant, and esteemed by all the family. ' You shall 
never want,' was the frequent language of the master. 
The servant was comforted by the thought ' that when 
he was old and grey-headed, he should not be forgot- 
ten.' His master died, leaving considerable property ; 
but the name of the servant was not found in the will ; 
he was left without provision. Was this equitable, 
when the master had power to provide for his servant? 
A small weekly sum would have filled the heart of the 
old man with joy." 

Now, do not fall into the error of supposing, that a 
small sum will be of little importance to a faithful 
domestic. There are times when a single shilling 
is very valuable to a person slenderly provided for, 



MAKING A WILL. ] 89 

and to such an one five or ten pounds would be a trea- 
sure. 

" A woman was once seen weeping at the grave of 
a worthy female. No one present appeared more 
deeply affected." ' Have you lost a friend in the de- 
ceased V inquired a person present : ' Yes,' replied the 
afflicted woman, ' the dear lady was very kind to me ; 
she used to allow me sixpence a week, which procur- 
ed me many comforts.' " 

My poor pen has run on strangely, and yet I appear 
to have written but a small part of what I intended to 
lay before you. It may be that after a while I may 
be permitted to return to this subject again, for it is an 
important one. In the meantime, if you have a wife 
and children, be not unmindful of my imperfect sug- 
gestions. If you have poor relations, " be ye merci- 
ful, even as your Father in heaven is merciful," and 
leave them not without some token of your remem- 
brance. If you have faithful servants, give them rea- 
son to bless your memory, and let the kindness of your 
friends be acknowledged. 

If Old Humphrey, in addition to what he has said, 
should intimate that a faithful minister of Christ, and 
a conscientious doctor, are entitled to estimation, you 
will not gainsay his opinion, nor deny that those who 
minister to the peace and repose of soul and body, 
have a claim on our best regard. If, however, we 
cannot follow out all our affectionate sympathies, let 
us, at least, not on this account neglect our positive 
duties. 



190 



ON INSANITY. 



ON INSANITY. 



The by-ways, as well as the highways of life, must 
be trodden, — the house of mourning, as well as the 
house of feasting must be entered by him who would 
see human nature as it is, and draw from mankind at 
large such lessons of instruction as may be profitable 
to his own heart, and the heart of others. With a 
spirit that claims kindred with the unhappy, I have 
visited the home of humiliation, — the domestic circle 
of sorrow : I have been to a lunatic asylum. Shall 
I draw the picture from the life ? No ! for though I 
might thereby call forth much of human sympathy and 
Christian kindness for a peculiar class of my fellow- 
beings, yet might I, also, wound those into whose bo- 
soms I would rather pour the oil of gladness, and the 
balm of peace. 

To the friends of those whose intellects are be- 
clouded, I would say. Encourage not gloomy impres- 
sions respecting those you lament. We know that in 
the natural creation darkness is as necessary as day- 
light ; and who shall say in the most mysterious visi- 
tations of the Almighty, mercy is not the principal in- 
gredient ? We see our afflictions, but we know not 
from what evils they preserve us ; nor do we discern 
the advantages which others may derive from them. 
Many of God's providences are painful ; they are in- 
tended to be so ; but the end is not yet : — it remains 
for another state of existence to unravel and enlighten 
much that is now intricated and obscure. 



ON INSANITY. 191 

But a word, reader, with you. There can be no 
doubt that you pity from your heart all those whose 
reason has gone astray ; but let me tell you, that if 
you cannot answer affirmatively the question I am 
about to propose, you stand, yourself in more need of 
pity than even the unhappy objects of your commiser- 
ation. I take it for granted that you read your Bible, 
acknowledging it to be the word of God ; and that 
you are fully aware mankind are not only born in sin, 
and conceived in iniquity, but also under the curse of 
the law for actual transgression. You are, doubtless, 
well aware that your life, compared to eternity, is but 
as a moment, and that there is but a step between you 
and death. Seeing, then, that if you die in your sins, 
the Holy Scriptures hold out no hope of escape from 
eternal woe ; and that there is but one way in which 
a sinner can be reconciled to God, and saved from 
everlasting death, the question I have to propose to 
you is this — Are you seeking, before every thing else 
in the world, to be reconciled to God through Jesus 
Christ ? 

Such language as this may not seem very suitable 
to your case. That there are sinners in the world, 
who need to be reconciled to God, you will not gain- 
say ; but you may be a thoughtless young man, wiih 
many accomplishments, and very well thought Oi and 
respected by your friends and acquaintance. Or, you 
may be a lively young lady, well educated, and what 
is considered amiable, the very life and joy, perhaps, 
of all your relations and friends. Or, perhaps, you 
are the father of a family, a man of business, indus- 



192 ON INSANITY. 

trious, provident, hospitable, and respected by all the 
country round ; or, a kind and careful wife, rising up 
early and looking well to the ways of your household, 
praised and beloved by all who know you ; or, an old 
man or woman, with grey hairs on your head, and 
wrinkles in your forehead, yet blithely and smilingly 
sailing down the stream of time, and heedless of the 
coming crisis ; or, if a shadowy thought arise, looking 
back upon a long life, and seeking comfort from the 
vain boast that you have never done your neighbour 
any harm. 

Now, in any of these cases, such language as this 
may seem very unsuitable to you ; but, reader, consid- 
er your not feeling yourself a sinner makes no differ- 
ence to the fearful truth that you are one. If you 
have not felt " the blood of sprinkling" applied to your 
conscience, the purging away of " the old man," and 
the renewing of your heart and life by the working of 
the Holy Spirit, it is certain, from the word of God, 
that you belong to the generation that is " pure in their 
own eyes, and yet is not washed from their filthiness." 
You may not feel yourself a sinner now, but you must 
feel it one day, either clinging to the cross of Christ, 
or calling to the rocks and mountains to fall on you, 
eChd hif'e you from the wrath of God. 

" The day coraeth, that shall burn as an oven ; and all 
the proud, and all that do wickedly," (now all are proud 
in heart naturally, and all have done wickedly, there- 
fore all who are not reconciled to God) "shall be as 
stubble, and the day that cometh shall burn them up, 
saith the Lord of hosts," Mai. iv. 1. 



ON INSANITY. 193 

Take it not for granted that you are reconciled to 
God, because you are in a Christian land, where the 
sabbath bell is heard on the sabbath morn ; because 
you attend God's house, and read your Bible, and say 
your prayers. If you are not humbled to feel yourself a 
lost and helpless sinner, if you are not looking solely 
to the Lord Jesus Christ, as your only ground of ac- 
ceptance, and hope of salvation, trusting entirely to 
his merits and his mercy, your " heart is not right in 
the sight of God," you are yet " in the gall of bitter- 
ness, and in the bond of iniquity/' 

" The day cometh that shall burn as an ov^en." 
reader, there is not a moment to lose ! Consider your 
riches as dust in comparison with Divine grace ; seek 
to be reconciled to God. Are you poor? Forget the 
bread that perisheth, and seek to be reconciled to God. 
Are you high ? Bow down to the earth, and seek to 
be reconciled to God. Are you lowly ? Rise up from 
the dust, and seek to be reconciled to God. Sleep 
not, rest not, day nor night, till you have sought to be 
reconciled to God through Jesus Christ. 

" The day cometh that shall burn as an oven." 
What shall it profit you in that day, that your name 
was extolled from the north to the south, and inscribed 
on marble and on brass, if it be not found in the Lamb's 
book of life? What shall it profit you in that day, 
that the whole universe consisted of your friends, if 
God be against you, who shall be for you 1 And if 
you die before you are reconciled to Him, in that day 
he will be against you. 

Though you live to the age of Methuselah, life soon 

17 



194 ON INSANITY. 

passeth away ; and " what shall it profit a man, if he 
gain the whole world, and lose his own soull" if you 
do with all your heart and life seek reconciliation with 
God in the prevailing name of his Son, pardon is 
yours ; but if you will not be reconciled to God in 
time, he will justly punish you to all eternity ; it will 
assuredly be said to you, " Depart from me, ye cursed 
into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his 
angels." I would press this subject home to you ; for 
again I say, the maniac is not more an object of pity 
than you, if you can live happy, and look happy, 
without seeking to be reconciled to God through the 
atoning blood of Christ. 

There are many kinds of madness in the world ; 
but no madness can be greater than yours, if, with 
heaven and hell before you, you are not seeking re- 
conciliation with God. 

" The day cometh that shall burn as an oven." 
Make haste, there is not a moment to lose ; for a mo- 
ment may call you out of this world ! Go, and before 
you ask bread to eat, seek to be reconciled and accept- 
ed with God, through his son Jesus Christ. His own 
word is an all-sufficient encouragement. " Him that 
cometh to me, I will in no wise cast out," John vi. 
37. 

If you are seeking this great salvation, the wisest 
philosopher excels you not in wisdom ; if you are 
neglecting to seek this, the wildest maniac surpasses 
you not in madness and folly. 



ON HEART SEARCHING. 195 



ON HEART SEARCHING. 

I DO not know whether your path through life has 
most resembled a bog or a bowling-green ; a thorny- 
brake, or a well-rolled gravel-walk ; but as the Father 
of mercies has appointed for our good in this world, 
that sunshine and shade, pleasure and pain, should 
be mingled ; inasmuch as it hath pleased Him, I say, 
that men should be born to trouble, as the sparks fly 
upward, so, I suppose of trouble you have had your 
share. 

Not that it very much matters whether we journey 
through the sultry desert, or lie down in green pas- 
tures, gently strolling beside the still waters, so that 
we have the presence of God with us. Bound as 
Shadrach, Meshech, and Abednego were, and unwont- 
ed as the heat of the fiery furnace was, into which 
they were cast, they had neither cause nor inclina- 
tion to complain, for there was One seen walking 
with them in the midst of the fire, in form like unto 
the Son of God. If you have been walking in the 
same company, whether your face has been bright 
with smiles, or clouded with tears, no matter. 

I want to search your hearts a little, on the present 
occasion, for now and then a little heart searching is 
a good thing — not a pleasant thing, but a good thing — 
seeing that it ministers to the health of the mind. 

It has been my lot to witness many scenes of afflic- 
tion and human sufferance, in sick beds, and asylums, 



196 ON HEART SEARCHING. 

0, 

and workhouses, and hospitals. 1 have been with the 
surgeon when his knife has been at work ; when the 
nerve, the vein, and the artery have been laid bare, 
and the offending limb has been amputated. I have 
attended the dissecting board, and witnessed the 
breathless body of a fellow-being in its humiliation. 
Something too much of all these things have I known, 
and if you have known them too, you will comprehend 
at once the significance of the term " laying the heart 
bare." 

You need not be frightened at me, for I am no sur- 
geon ; the pen is my weapon, and that I can use but 
very indifferently ; how then I shall succeed in laying 
your hearts " bare," is a matter involved in some un- 
certainty. 

It much struck me, some time ago, when I heard 
an eminently humble and pious follower of the Re- 
deemer say, that the Lord had dealt very mercifully 
with her, in " hiding her transgressions." The thought 
has occurred to me again and again, how sad the si- 
tuation of God's people would be in the world ; what 
a spectacle to be gazed on with wonder, if God, in his 
matchless and manifold mercies, had not hid their 
transgressions. 

How is it with you in this respect ? Are you fair 
and quite upright in all things 1 Are you exactly what 
the world around you considers you to be, or are you 
indulging some secret sin, which the eye of God be- 
holds though you conceal it from human gaze ? 

I speak to the rich as well as to the poor ; and, hark 
you ! if you be rich I shall not spare you on that ac- 



ON HEART SEARCHING. 197 

count. Whether you are a peer or a pauper, Old 
Humphrey does not care the vakie of one farthing. 
Those round about you, who fear you, or hope to ob-, 
tain something at your hands, are not likely to tell you 
plain truths ; but as I neither fear your ill humour, 
supposing you sometimes indulge in it, nor hope to 
gain any part of the money you have in your pockets, 
the plain truth shall be spoken. 

It may be that you and the world are on tolerably 
good terms ; your reputation stands pretty fair ; you 
have no particular " blot on your escutcheon," but let 
me ask you a plain question ; Is this because you are 
really spotless, or because your character and conduct 
are not fully known to others ? 

Judging by outward appearance, worldly men no 
doubt, call you " a fortunate man." Your humbler neigh- 
bours, your tenants, and your poor relations, think you 
are " a great man," and those who worship with you 
on the sabbath conclude that your " lines are fallen in 
pleasant places," and that you possess " a goodly her- 
itage." 

It may be that you keep a carriage ; that you have 
a large balance in your banker's hands ; that your 
property in the funds is considerable ; and that your 
estates are altogether free from mortgage. You are, 
perhaps, looked up to with respect as a man of prop- 
erty, probity, and piety ; and held in high estimation 
by your friends. It is not my wish, for a moment, to 
diminish aught of these things ; rather would I in- 
crease them, had I the ability, if by so doing it would 
add to your earthly happiness and your heavenly 

17* 



198 ON HEART SEARCHING. 

hopes ; but I want to send you home to your own 
bosom, to lay your heart bare. Never mind, just for 
the moment, what other people think of you ; they 
know nothing at all about the matter ; but 1 ask, What 
do you think of yourself? 

Are you just in all your dealings ; doing to others 
as you would they should do to you, were you to ex- 
change positions with them ? Do you behave well to 
your servants ? Are you as free from pride as you 
wish people to suppose? Are you as kind to your 
poor relations as you should reasonably wish them to 
be to you, were you poor, and they rich ? Do you 
give to the poor as much as you ought? Is your alms- 
giving unmingled with ostentation? I know that I 
am trying you rather hardly ; I am going a long way, 
but I must go a little farther, so let me beg you to 
stand up fairly like a man. Is there no act oi justice 
which you know you ought to do, that you are delay- 
ing ? No secret sin in which you are indulging ? Are 
you a sincere and humble follower of Jesus Christ ? 
Are you grateful to God for the gifts with which he 
has entrusted you ? Do you consider yourself as his 
steward, bound to use them to his glory ; and are you 
ready, whenever he shall require it, to give an account 
of your stewardshi'p ? After you have put these ques- 
tions to your own heart, and replied to them with sin- 
cerity, let me again ask, whether, in your own estima- 
tion, you are not more indebted for your present char- 
acter and reputation to the comparative ignorance of 
your fellow-sinners, than to your own deserts ? 

Well now let me move on to the middle class of man- 



ON HEART SEARCHING. 199 

kind, which is much larger than that which contains 
the rich alone. In this class may be reckoned the 
generality of those who follow a trade, as well as 
persons filling situations as clerks, and those who 
by their own exertions are fully able to provide neces- 
saries and comforts without feeling the evils of pover- 
ty. Are you in this class? If so, I have a word or 
two to whisper in your ear. 

Remember I am not going to accuse you. I am 
only about to ask a few questions ; answer them to 
yourself, in godly sincerity. 

I need not tell you of the trickery and dishonef'^ty 
that are often practised in trade. I need not tell you that 
the necessaries of life are too often adulterated ; that 
short weights are sometimes used ; that the little finger, 
now, and then, touches the scalebeam ; and that the 
cloth is cut, occasionally, on the wrong side of the 
thumb. I am afraid these things are too common for 
many persons to be ignorant of them. Oh how miser- 
ably we deceive ourselves when we deceive others! 
How blind we are, when we do wrong in secret, and 
say, " The Lord shall not see, neither shall the God of 
Jacob regard it !" " The eyes of the Lord are in 
every place, beholding the evil and the good." O 
Lord, "the darkness hideth not from thee; but the 
night shineth as the day : the darkness and the light 
are both alike to thee," Psa. cxxxix. 12. 

If you hold any situation, I will not suppose that 
you systematically injure your employers, or reckless- 
ly waste their time and your own. If you are in trade, 
I will not suppose for a moment that you are one of 



200 ON HEART SEARCHING. 

those who think it lawful to get rich at all hazzards; 
that you consider it no crime to oppress your workmen, 
and impose upon your customers ; but, on the contrary 
give you credit for being what the world would call an 
upright tradesman : but, now, do not shrink from my 
question. Are you, in your own estimation, as upright 
as you are in the opinion of others? If instead of 
being judged by man, who knows you not, you were 
to be judged by Almighty God, who knows you, do 
you think you would stand so fair with your neigh- 
bours as you now do ? or are you conscious that you 
are what you are in the eyes of the world, because 
men know not the " whole truth" as to your life and 
character ? 

I know these are heart-searching inquiries, and not 
such as we are in the habit of putting to one another 
every day in the week ; but, for all that, they may not 
be unnecessary. It is a grievous thing for any one to 
act unfaithfully to those above him, or to oppress, in 
any way, those beneath him ; whether, then, your are 
a master or a servant, your catechising yourself as I 
have catechised you, will do you no harm. 

And, now, shall I leave off without a word to the 
poorer class ? Oh no, he is no friend to the poor, who 
is not willing to correct their errors, as well as to in- 
crease their comforts ; to speak the truth, I more fre- 
quently have a poor man, or a poor woman, than a 
rich one, in my eye, when I dip my pen into my ink- 
stand. Willingly, had I the power, would I plant a 
grape-vine against every poor man's cottage, place a 
Bible on his side-table, and be the instrument of im- 



ON HEART SEARCHING. 201 

parting the consolations of that blessed Book to his 
heart. 

Well, then, let me suppose that you are poor, and 
that you have the character of being honest, sober, 
and industrious. It may be, too, that God, of his 
great mercy, has made you tolerably contented in your 
situation. Perhaps you know that riches will not 
make a man happy, nor the absence of them render 
him miserable, and you may sometimes repeat the 
texts, " The sleep of a labouring man is sweet, wheth- 
er he eat little or much : but the abundance of the 
rich will not suffer him to sleep," Eccles. v. 12. — 
*' Better is little with the fear of the Lord, than great 
treasure and trouble therewith," Prov. xv. 16. Let 
me then ask you, as I have asked others, if you were 
called upon at the hour of midnight, when no eye 
save that of the Almighty is upon you, to give a true 
character of yourself, what would that character be ? 

I do not want to be referred to your master, or to 
your neighbour, or to your friends, for your character ; 
for you may think, and say, and do a thousand things 
that they know nothing of. Put the question to your- 
self, calling to mind every idle word that has been 
said, and every evil deed that has been done by you, 
and then, perhaps, you will see that you have no cause 
for boasting, but much for using the publican's prayer^ 
with smitings on your breast, " God be merciful to me 
a sinner," Luke xvii. 13. 

And now, let the heart-searching inquiry be directed 
to my own bosom ; let me, as 1 have catechised others, 
catechised myself. I may not intentionally have 



202 ON LIFE INSURANCE. 

wronged my neighbour ; I may not willingly have in- 
jured the widow and the fatherless ; oppressed the 
weak, or ground the face of the poor ; but the questioa 
is, Do I know that I am, in integrity and godly sincer- 
ity, in all respects the man I am taken to be, by those 
around me ? To this I answer, " To the Lord our 
God belong mercies and forgiveness, though we have 
rebelled against him." " It is of the Lord's mercies 
that we are not consumed, because his compassions 
fail not." " Hide thy face from my sins, and blot out 
all mine iniquities." Blessed be God, that " the blood 
of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth from all sin," 1 John 
i. 7. 



ON LIFE INSURANCE. 

If I could find one solitary being who had never lost 
a parent, child, relation, or friend ; if I could find one 
who had no interest in the life or death of any human 
being ; I should conclude, at once, that he would never 
trouble his head, with anything that might be said on 
the subject of " life insurance." But this is not a like- 
ly case. Death is too well known among us ; the 
church-yard proclaims his victories, and the mourning 
weeds that are worn in remembrance of the dead, seem 
fearfully to increase. 

Old Humphrey likes chiefly to talk of things that 
come home to the bosoms and business of his fellow- 
men. The common-place occurrences of life suit 



ON LIFE INSURANCE. 203 

him ; the every-day causes of joy and sorrow he loves 
to dwell upon ; and rather would he take a thorn from 
the finger, or a care from the heart of one fellow-pil- 
grim, than tickle the ears of a thousand by a poor at- 
tempt to be eloquent. Those who listen to Old Hum- 
phrey must be content with homely subjects, and very 
homely observations. 

The subject of " life insurance" is well worth the 
consideration of all who would willingly, when they 
quit this world of sorrows, secure the comfort of those 
who are dear to them. I am as likely as my neigh- 
bours to err in my judgment on this subject, but if I 
do err, it is the head, and not the heart, that is the of- 
fender. It is a most important subject ; others have 
said much upon it, and " I also will show mine opin- 
ion." 

There are a few among my Christian friends who 
feel a strong objection against " life insurances." They 
think that insuring a life is something like impiously 
opposing the will of God ; endeavouring to calculate 
as to the days that the high and lofty One in his wis- 
dom alone can number. Now, I think they are wrong 
in this prejudice ; but God forbid that I should ever 
treat lightly the conscientious scruple of any one, es- 
pecially of those, whom, for their Christian consistency 
and integrity, I highly value. Still I think they are 
wronsf: Not that I like the term " life insurance," for 
I do not think it a proper one. A perishing mortal 
man cannot calculate as to the remnant of his days ; 
he cannot insure or be insured ; but the term, " life in- 
surance," merely means the act of making a prudent 



204 ON LIFE INSURANCE. 

provision for those dear to us, when we shall be re- 
moved from the world. 

But then, again, my friends say, " This is another 
reason why we object to it ; for what right have we to 
mistrust God's providence and faithfulness? ought we 
not to commit those dear to us to God, instead of 
showing that we lack confidence in his fatherly pro- 
tection, by taking the affair out of his hands, and mak- 
ing a provision ourselves? 

My answer is, — That it argues no mistrust of our 
heavenly Father's goodness and faithfulness, to use 
the gifts he has bestowed on us for our own welfare, 
and the welfare of others. 

Do we doubt God's fatherly care, because we plough 
the ground, and sow the seed that is to supply us with 
bread ? Surely not. He could feed us, as he did hi& 
people of old, with manna ; nay, he could make the 
grain to spring up without our assistance ; but it is his 
good pleasure not to do this, but rather to use his crea- 
tures as a means in his hands, to administer to their 
own wants. 

Old Humphrey thinks that he is clear on this point, 
and he regrets that any servant of the Redeemer 
should be hampered by scruples which he believes are 
ill-founded. 

Let us put this matter in the plainest point of view, 
and show that we sin not in defending ourselves and 
others from the common evils to which we are liable. 

Do we oppose God in pulling up the weeds that he 
has made to grow in our gardens ? or act disobediently 



ON LIFE INSURANCE. 205 

in closing our eyes when his lightning flashes around 
us ? 

Because God sends the rain, must I not hold up an 
umbrella to defend myself from the drenching storm ? 
Because God sends the plague, must I not take means 
and medicine to protect me from the fearful pest? 
Oh yes ! for our heavenly Father often visits us with 
afflictions, to call forth those qualities, energies, and 
resources, with which he has mercifully endued us. 
When God causes the sultry sun to shine on the earth, 
we dress in light clothing ; but when he seals up the 
waters with frost, when he giveth ''snow and vapours, 
stormy winds fulfilling his word ;" when he " casteth 
forth his ice like morsels," who can stand before his 
cold, without warmer garments? Is it unlawful, then, 
with a dependent and grateful spirit, to use the com- 
forts his bounty has placed within our reach ? No ! 
no ! it cannot be. It is our duty, as it should be our 
delight, to live to his glory; and, as far as lies in our 
power, to provide for the wants, and extend the com- 
forts, of those dependent upon us, not only during our 
lives, but after our death. The same Holy Scriptures 
that rebuke unnecessary and sinful anxiety, by the in- 
junction, " Take, therefore, no thought for the morrow," 
Matt. vi. 34, reprove also an idle, careless, improvi- 
dent disposition, by the command, " Provide things 
honest in the sight of all men," Rom. xii. 17; and by 
the declaration, " But if any provide not for his own, 
and specially for those of his own house, he hath de- 
nied the faith, and is worse than an infidel," 1 Tim. v. 
8. Old Humphrey, then, believes that he is only act- 

18 



206 ON LIFE INSURANCE. 

ing a friendly part in advising all, who have the means, 
from an uncertain income, or one which continues only 
for their lives, to make a reasonable provision for their 
families, by effecting what is called a " life insurance." 

Thus far have I spoken to such as may not at pres- 
ent have been convinced of the great advantage of 
paying a small sum every year, that their wives, or 
their children, or their poorer relations, may, after a 
while, be benefited by it. I have now a word to say 
to a different class of people, even to the directors or 
managers of "life insurance" establishments them- 
selves ; and with great plainness of speech will I ad- 
dress them. 

When we want the arrow to go right home to its 
mark, there is nothing like taking a single aim. This 
is what a good friend of mine calls using a rifle-bar- 
rel, instead of a scattering blunderbuss. In place, 
therefore, of speaking to " life insurance" managers 
generally, I will speak to one only, with the hope that 
every manager who reads my homely observations 
will apply them to himself. 

I will suppose, then, that you are a manager of a 
" life insurance" establishment, and if you are a friend- 
ly man, you are not likely to quarrel with Old Humph- 
rey because he steps out of his pathway to lead you 
by the hand. He hopes you are prospering in your 
undertaking, and the more so, because he thinks it a 
useful and a praiseworthy one. 

It is not unlikely that we entertain different opinions 
on many points, but let us not think the worse of each 
other on this account. I am too often in the wrong, 



ON LIFE INSURANCE. 207 

whether you are or not ; but do we agree in two 
things ? first, that there is one great, and good, and 
merciful Being, who made us, and all things ; infinite 
in wisdom and in power ? and, secondly, that the Holy 
Scriptures are his word and will ? We ought not to 
doubt the first, because the sun, moon, and stars, that 
have been proclaiming it in heaven for nearly six 
thousand years, proclaim it still ; because spring, sum- 
mer, autumn, and winter, continually repeat the same 
truth ; while the teeming earth, and the heaving ocean, 
bear their testimony to the same undeniable verity. 

We ought not to call in question the second, because 
the Bible has been handed down to us with the most 
scrupulous care by God's own peculiar people, and its 
truth been confirmed by the testimony of its very en- 
emies, as well as by the fulfilment of its prophecies. 
Its holy and faithful reproofs have convinced thousands 
of their sins, and its merciful promises gladdened ten 
thousand times ten thousand hearts. 

If, then, we are agreed in these respects, both of us 
believing in the gospel of Jesus Christ, you must not 
be out of temper, if I ask you this plain question, Have 
you insured your life ? You see the reasonableness of 
others insuring, and you think that my arguments are 
what they ought to be in persuading them to do so ; 
but bring the matter home to yourself — Have you in- 
sured your own own life ? 

There is another office more safe, more liberal, and 
more advantageous than yours, and it has a Director 
infinitely more wise than you are. Is your name 
among the names of those who have insured there ? 



208 ON LIFE INSURANCE. 

You perceive that I am not now talking of an earth- 
ly establishment, but of a heavenly one. You are not 
asked whether your name appears in your own books, 
but is it written in the book of eternal life 1 

You seem to see clearly by the undertaking you 
have embarked in, that all men must die ; do you see 
equally clear that all must be brought to judgment ? 
You seem to understand that all will die a natural 
death ; do you understand also, that all who are dead 
in trespasses and sins will die an eternal death, if they 
have not obtained pardon ? 

It may be that this matter may have escaped you ; 
that you have not given it due attention ; let me press 
it upon you urgently and affectionately. 

It may be that you have been so much taken up in 
insuring the lives of your fellow-men in this world, 
that you have thought very little of Him, who alone 
can insure your own life in another. 

Men commit strange mistakes, and you may have 
been calculating on the length of human existence, as 
if it depended entirely upon man, without bearing in 
mind that God alone is the Author of your existence 
and preservation, and that he only can loose the silver 
cord, and stop life's pendulum. Till the almighty de- 
cree goes forth, no man will die. Then, and not till 
then, " shall the dust return to the earth as it was, and 
the spirit shall return unto God who gave it." 

And shall Old Humphrey, while he believes it pos- 
sible that vou are under such a sad mistake ; shall he 
smile, and speak pleasant things to you, and allow you 
Va go unmolested down the slippery pathway that leads 



ON LIFE INSURANCE. 209 

to SO fearful a precipice 1 No ! rather will he seize 
you by the arm, and compel you to listen to his re- 
monstrance. 

Did you ever read the words, " All have sinned and 
come short of the glory of God," Rom. iii. 23. " The 
soul that sinneth it shall die," Ezek. xviii. 4. " Ex- 
cept ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish?" I^uke 
xiii. 3. These are not the words of Old Humphrey, 
a fellow-sinner ; a poor, unworthy, mutable, a dying 
worm of the earth ; but the words of the living God ; and 
so sure as we shall lie down and moulder in the dust, so 
sure as the high and lofty One sits on the throne of 
heaven, his judgments and his promises will both be 
fulfilled. I ask you, then, have you insured your 
life. 

Surely you will never urge another to buckle on his 
armour, to brave the temporary evils of time, and go 
yourself unarmed to encounter the never-ending evils 
of eternity ! This, if done without reflection, would be 
thoughtlessness : but with reflection, folly and madness. 
Again, then, I urge the question. Have you insured your 
life ? If not, hasten to the Author and Giver of life, pres- 
ent and eternal, with the inquiry, " What shall I do that 
I may have eternal life ?" Matt. xix. 16. And the liberal- 
ity of the terms will surprise you. " Hear, and your soul 
shall live. To the Lord our God belong mercies and for- 
givenesses, though we have rebelled against him," Isa. 
Iv. 3. " This is a faithful saying and worthy of all ac- 
ception, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save 
sinners," 1 Tim. i. 15. " Believe on the Lord Jesus 
Christ, and thou shalt be saved." Acts xvi. 31. 



210 ON USING AND NOT ABUSING 

The words of a weak, erring old man may be dis- 
regarded, however affectionately they may be spoken ; 
and, therefore, Old Humphrey will not calculate on 
doing you all the good he willingly would do ; but if 
his weak words should be attended with a Divine in- 
fluence, they will be powerful enough to dispose you 
to reflection. At all events, refuse not an old man's 
blessing, who desires, with his heart and soul, that 
when you cease to be a director of a life insurance of- 
fice on earth, your name may be found written in the 
Lamb's book of eternal life, and your voice be heard 
among the triumphant throng, saying, " blessing, and 
glory, and wisdom, and thanksgiving, and honour, and 
power, and might, be unto our God, for ever and ever," 
Rev. vii. 12. 



ON USING AND NOT ABUSING 

THE 

THINGS OF THE WORLD. 

It sometimes happens, that, in reading the word of 
God, Old Humphrey meets with a text that seems ex- 
actly to suit the case of some neighbour or friend. It 
reproves an error, or consoles an aflliction, that want- 
ed just such correction or consolation ; and then Old 
Humphrey is quick to apply it. If the text be a re- 
buke, he takes it up, and applies it to others. If it be 
a cordial, he pours it out with a willing hand and 



THE THINGS OF THE WORLD 211 

heart. This is an occurrence that not unfrequently 
takes place. 

It happens, too, at times, and, perhaps, as often as 
the other case, that Old Humphrey meets with a text 
that seems written on purpose for himself. It comes 
like a sharp arrow, aimed at one of his own number- 
less faults ; or, like the voice of a faithful friend and 
counsellor, to direct him in a season of difficulty. I 
have just been reading a chapter in Corinthians, where- 
in are the words, " And they that use this world, as 
not abusing it ; for the fashion of this world passeth 
away," 1 Cor. vii. 51. Now, who is he that uses the 
things of this world without abusing them? Whoever 
he may be, I feel at this moment that he is not Old 
Humphrey. The words, therefore, come home to me ; 
and, as it is possible they may come home to you like- 
wise, let us give them a little consideration. 

We need not trouble our heads about the unlawful 
things of the world, because we are not permitted to 
use them at all without disobedience and sin. When 
we meddle with them it is all abuse — when we touch 
them, it is all defilement. The lawful things of the 
world are those which we will consider. 

We may venture to lay it down as a rule, that when 
our earthly desires darken our heavenly hopes ; that ' 
whenever the love of any created thing lessens our 
love to God and his Son Jesus Christ, we are not 
merely using, but also abusing the things of the world. 
And now, then, to this standard let us bring ourselves. 

Dear as our relations and friends may be, they are 
too dear vv^hen they draw our hearts from God. How 



312 ON USING AND NOT ABUSING 

is it with you ? do you use these good things without 
abusing them ? Is there no wife, no husband, no child, 
no friend, that has an undue portion of your affection ? 
Do none of these idols interfere with the supreme, un- 
mingled devotion of your hearts to the King of kings 
and Lord of lords ? This is a home question ; but it 
shall be put as plainly to Old Humphrey as to your- 
selves. 

How is it with you as to your worldly possessions ? 
Can you commit yourselves and all belonging to you, 
without anxiety, to Him whose are " the silver and the 
gold, and the cattle on a thousand hills ?" or are you 
labouring unduly to add shilling to shilling, pound to 
pound, field to field, and house to house? Does the 
love of money, and what money will obtain, never en- 
ter into your heart, and render you for a season more 
desirous to get the gold that perishes here, than the 
treasure that will endure for ever? 

Are you quite sure that you are using what you pos- 
sess of this world's wealth, and not abusing it ? This 
question ought to be answered honestly, and faithfully, 
not only by you, but by Old Humphrey. 

To what use are you putting your health and strength, 
your reputation and influence in the world? for these 
ought not to be abused. Are you employing them for 
mean and selfish ends, or devoting them to high and 
holy objects ? The fashion of this world passeth 
away, and you are passing away, too, and should, 
therefore, while you possess them, promote glory to 
God in the highest, and goodwill among mankind. Is 



THE THINGS OF THE WORLD. 213 

this then, the case ? I ask you, and I also ask Old 
Humphrey. 

It is a much easier thing to ask such questions than 
to reply to them ; and yet the reply is as necessary as 
the question. The sun, the moon, and the stars, that 
so gloriously adorn the heavens ; the mountains and 
valleys, the fields and the foliage, the fruits and flow- 
ers, that beautify the earth, are grateful to look upon, 
and the Father of mercies has given us intellect to en- 
joy them, but are we using or abusing this intellect ? 
Do we regard these created things as the express 
workmanship of God, and seek, through a knowledge 
of them, to glorify him more, whose goodness and 
whose mercy endureth for ever ? or do we merely re- 
gard them as beautiful objects of the creation, calcula- 
ted to afford us pleasure ? What is your reply, and 
what is the reply of Old Humphrey? 

How are we using our time ? Not our years our 
months, our weeks, and our days only, but our hours^ 
our minutes, and our moments ; for moments are more 
precious than diamonds. How are we using our time ? 
What is called a long life soon runs away ; and a short 
one is short indeed. You may not have so many grey 
hairs on your head as I have, but your lives are equal- 
ly uncertain as mine. However profitably we may 
appear to be using our time, we are abusing it, and 
spending it unprofitably, if therein we nre not prepar- 
ing for eternity. Let the question be repeated, then, 
till it tingles in our ears, How Jo you use your time ? 

How do we use liie losses and crosses, the trials 
and afflictions of the world 1 for these are among the 



214 ON USING AND NOT ABUSING, ETC. 

good things that we ought not to abuse. Do we allow 
them to sour our temper, to make us despond and re- 
pine ? Do we complain that God deals hardly with 
us ; or do these things render us more humble, depen- 
dent, prayerful, and thankful ? Can we, and do we 
thank God that we have been afflicted ? If we can, 
we are using, but if we cannot, we are abusing what 
ought to be a blessing to us. Let us, at least, be close 
and honest in putting the inquiry to our hearts. 

If " the fashion of this world passeth away," 1 Cor. 
vii. 31, there is the greater need to be preparing for 
another. How are we using our sabbaths, and our 
sabbath sermons? How are we using our hours of 
reflection, and seasons of devotion ? Are we using 
them, as especial mercies, vouchsafed to us for espe- 
cial purpose ? or abusing them by a worldly, cold- 
hearted, and selfish participation of the benefits they 
afford ? If we could answer this inquiry in a satis- 
factory way, it would be well for you, and equally well 
for Old Humphrey. 

To sum up the whole matter. Is every faculty of 
our bodies and our souls devoted to God ? Is every 
thing we possess considered as His, and not as our 
own ? Do our gains and losses, our pleasures and our 
pains unite us more closely to him ? In one word, do 
we use the things of this world, by regarding them as 
helps to heaven, or abuse them by allowing them to 
enchain our hearts and affections to the earth? No 
questions can be put plainer than these have been put 
to you, and they have not been put plainer to you than 
to the heart of Old Humphrey. 



ON ATTENDING THE SICK. 215 



ON ATTENDING THE SICK. 

My good friends, had I my will, every man and 
woman, ay, every child too, above seven years old, in 
Great Britain, should be in some measure, qualified 
to wait upon the sick. But why should I limit my 
good wishes to Great Britain ? I would extend them 
to the wide world, for the sick in one country require 
alleviation and comfort as well as in another. 

The proper end of education is to give us a knowl- 
edge of our duty to God and man, and to make us 
useful in our generation. Where, then, can we be 
more useful than at the couch of sickness and pain ? 

It is not the wish of Old Humphrey that every one 
should become a nurse, and understand the whole 
mystery of caudle-making and sauce-panry ; all that 
he desires is, that every one should be moderately en- 
dowed with the most necessary qualifications to allevi- 
ate and comfort the sick. 

Show me one who has never received the assistance 
of others when in sickness ; one who has neither 
father, mother, sister, brother, nor friend on the face 
of the earth, and I will excuse him from being over 
anxious about this matter ; but all who have kindred, 
or have received kindness, are bound, according to 
the ability, to qualify themselves to be useful to others. 
Must not he have a hollow heart who helps a friend 
only while he can swim, and neglects him when he 
is drowning ? And is it not a little like this, to behave 
kindly to others in health, when they can do without 



216 ON ATTENDING THE SICK. 

our kindness, and forsake them in sickness, when they 
require assistance ? 

A cup of cold water to the weary and thirsty travel- 
ler is welcome indeed, and the most trifling attention 
to the sick is oftentimes a cordial to the fainting spirit. 
When the strength fails ; when the grasshopper is a 
burden ; when the silver cord is about to be loosed ; 
when the golden bowl, and the pitcher at the fountain, 
and the wheel at the cistern, are near being broken — 
when the dust appears ready to go to the earth, and 
the spirit to return unto God who gave it, it is then 
meet that every kindness should be shown to the suf- 
ferers. 

We are all liable to be dependent on the attentions 
of others, and we should all, therefore, be qualified to 
attend to others. Those who in sickness have felt 
the relief of a well-timed cup of lea, or a small bason 
of well-made gruel, wine-whey, or barley-water, will 
not laugh at Old Humphrey for talking about such 
things ; and if they should do so, he would, notwith- 
standing, make them a cup or bason of any of these 
comforts, should their situation require it. 

How many hundreds of people are there in the 
world, who would not know how to make these com- 
mon-places comforts, however urgent might be the ne- 
cessity that required them at their hands ? 

Is it difficult to teach even a child to put a little tea 
into a pot, and pour boiling v/ater over it ; to let it 
stand a few minutes, and then pour it off, to add to it 
a little sugar and milk ? Certainly not ; yet how few 
children are taught to do this properly ! 



ON ATTENDING THE SICK. 217 

Nor is it more difficult to boil half a pint or a pint ot 
milk in a saucepan, and then to pour into it a wine-glass 
full of white wine ; thus making that wine- whey, which 
only requires to be strained from the curd to be ready 
for an invalid. How many grown-up persons would 
not know how to set about this ! 

I know twenty people, as old as I am, who could 
not, without some instruction, make a decent bason of 
gruel ; and yet how easily is this performed ! While 
water is boiling in a saucepan, a large spoonful of oat- 
meal is mixed up in a bason with a little cold water ; 
the hot water is then poured into this, when it is left 
to settle ; it is afterwards poured, leaving the husks at 
the bottom behind, into the saucepan, and boiled slow- 
ly, while being stirred round with a spoon. Or, where 
groats can be obtained, gruel may be made much easier, 
by pouring boiling water on the groats, and letting 
them simmer over the fire, till the fluid is of the de- 
gree of thickness which is desired. This is gruel ; 
and when sweetened with a little sugar, or seasoned 
with salt, is an excellent food for sick persons. How 
is it that every one is not capable of rendering such a 
service in an extremity, when it may be done with so 
little trouble ? There are many other little comforts 
that are provided as easily as these are, but surely a 
knowledge of what I have mentioned is not too much 
to be required of any one. If you have the right sort 
of affection for those who are dear to you, you would 
not willingly let them lack, in a season of affliction, 
any service you could render them. 

Come, Old Humphrey will make a few remarks, 
19 



218 ON ATTENDING THE SICK. 

that will help you, if you are disposed to add to your 
qualifications, to soothe the amxcted. If ever you 
are called to attend a sick-bed, he sure to manifest 
kindness : without this quality, others will lose much 
of their value. Be tender^ not only with your hands, 
but with your tongue : tenderness of heart is quite ne- 
cessary. Be sure to exercise patience ; if you cannot 
do this, you are not fit to attend the sick. Forbearance, 
too, is a great virtue. Sick people are often fretful 
and trying, and require to be borne with. Cleanliness 
is essential : a dirty cup, a bit of coal on the toast, or 
a hand begrimmed with dirt, is enough to turn the heart 
of an invalid. Expertness and promptitude are of great 
value, that the wants of the invalid may be supplied 
without delay. Thoughtfulness must be practised, 
that you may anticipate what will be required ; and 
watchfulness, that you may know when to be of service. 
Be sober, as beseemeth an attendant on the sick ; but 
be also cheerful. Cheerfulness is as good as medicine 
to the afflicted. Firmness and prudence are qualities 
that may at times be put to good account ; and if, in 
addition to those I have mentioned, you have sincere 
and lively piety, ever desiring to keep the eye, the 
heart, and the hopes of the sufferer fixed on the Great 
Physician, the Healer of the soul's leprosy, as well 
as of the body's ailments, why then your attentions 
may indeed do good ; they may be the means of ben- 
efitting both body and soul. 

And think not that you can benefit the sick without 
doing a service to yourself. You may learn many a 
lesson in a sick chamber, that would never have been 



ON ATTENDING THE SICK. 219 

taught you in other places. " It is better," on many- 
accounts, " to go to the house of mourning, than to go 
to the house of feasting." We learn more of this 
world's hollo wness in an hour under the roof of sorrow, 
than in a life spent in the habitation of joy. 

To witness sanctified affliction is a high privilege, 
for we then see that " neither death, nor life, nor an- 
gels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, 
nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any 
other creature, shall be able to separate us from the 
love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." 

Old Humphrey has attended the sick, both in the 
noontide and the midnight hour ; the desponding sigh, 
the weary moan, and the groan of agony, are familiar 
to him. He has marked the changes from the first at- 
tack of sickness to the death-gasp that ended the mor- 
tal strife. The declining strength ; the labouring 
pulse ; the glazed eye ; the throat-rattle, and the fallen 
jaw. He has closed the eyelids of youth and of age, 
and having felt, painfully felt, his own deficiencies as 
an attendant on the sick, he the more anxiously urges 
on others the duty of qualifying themselves to soothe 
the sorrows of the afflicted, and to smooth the bed of 
death. 



220 ADVICE TO BE PONDERED IN HEALTH, 



ADVICE 

TO BE PONDERED IN HEALTH, AND PRACTISED 
IN SICKNESS. 

It sometimes happens, that I am requested by cor- 
respondents to write on particular subjects : when I 
fail to do so, I hope that a kind interpretation is put 
upon the omission. Happy is he whose hand can ex- 
ecute one-half of his heart's undertakings ! 

I have already said something for the consideration 
of those who may be called on to attend the sick ; 
and I now have a word or two that may be suitable to 
the sick themselves. 

Do not imagine me to be so unreasonable as to ex- 
pect the sick will read my remarks. Oh, no? I 
neither expect nor desire them to do so. The afflict- 
ed, if they can read at all, ought to read, mark, learn, 
and inwardly digest, far better words than the words 
of Old Humphrey. What I want is, that my obser- 
vation!!, poor and imperfect as they are, may be attend- 
ed to by those who are well ; that in case they should 
be laid on a bed of sickness, they may profit by the 
friendly advice that I venture to offer them. 

It may seem an odd conceit, to sow in health, and 
to reap in sickness ; but for all that, it will be a profi- 
table kind of husbandry. The ant and the honey-bee 
lay up for a dark and wintry season ; and why should 
not the Christian ? You may feel strong while you 
read these lines, but, alas ! a time is coming, with 



aND practised in sickness. 221 

hasty strides, when " the keepers of the house shall 
tremble, and the strong men shall bow themselves." 

We are not half thankful enough for the blessing of 
health. We can give with alacrity a piece of gold to 
an earthly physician, and feel thankful if he can mod- 
erate our pains for a day, or even an- hour ; but are 
we equally grateful to our heavenly Physician, for 
months and years of uninterrupted health ? Now, 
answer this question before you go on aiiy further. 

To a sick person it is a great comfort when atten- 
dants perform their kind offices with willingness, for 
an unwilling attendant is oftentimes a sad trouble to 
an invalid. Now, sick persons may do much to make 
their attendants either willing or unwillinsr in the office 
the}' have undertaken. Tn sickness, such is our infir- 
mity, that selfishness is almost sure to increase, and 
judgment and consideration, with regard to others, to 
diminish , it therefore becomes the more necessary 
that, while we are well, we should know how, when 
we come to be afflicted, to avoid the error of driving 
from us our kindest friends, or of drawing down upon 
us the negligence and churlishness of our common 
attendants. 

If in sickness you have ever had your pillow smooth- 
ed, and your gruel presented by a kind hand ; or if your 
nauseous medicine has been made doubly nauseous by 
the rude remark of an unkind, unfeeling, dirty, and 
negligent nurse, you will think this a point of some 
importance. I may not succeed in the object that I 
have in view ; but, at least, I will pursue it with ear- 
nestness, with kindness, and with integrity. The sub- 

19* 



•^ 



222 ADVICE TO BE PONDERED IN HEALTH, 

ject requires to be treated with fidelity and tender 
ness. 

Sick persons in their afflictions are apt to forget that, 
from necessity, it cannot be so pleasant, even to their 
dearest friends, to approach them, as when they were 
in health. Disease, wounds, sickness, ejaculations of 
pain, tainted breath, and perspirations, are of them- 
selves forbidding, and though affection and kindness 
will gladly endure, and seek to relieve them, yet the 
invalid should remember that these things are trials to 
their attendants. 

I have seen a sick father press his fevered and taint- 
ed lips to the pale face of his attendant daughter, when 
consideration and judgment would have prevented such 
an ill-timed and dangerous proof of affection. I have 
known a sick mother grasp her affectionate son with 
her clammy hand, holding him over her till he has 
been compelled to draw back. A momentary pressure 
of the hand would have been better. Am I unfeeling 
in my remarks ? I ought not to be so, for I have been 
borne with when the yearnings of affection, tugging at 
my heart-strings, have made me somewhat unreason- 
able ; but, surely, if we love or respect those who min- 
ister to us in our afflictions, we should be as little bur- 
densome to them as possible. Consider, for a moment, 
the difference between one who springs forward with 
alacrity to serve you in sickness, and another whom 
you have discouraged, and wearied, and estranged, by 
selfish waywardness and want of consideration. 

Sick persons have usually an inclination to dwell on 
the subject of their infirmities, till the ear of affection 



AND PRACTISED IN SICKNESS. 223 

itself becomes weary : they seem to say, " I will not 
refrain my mouth ; I will speak in the anguish of 
my spirit ; I will complain in the bitterness of my 
soul." 

The remark, " I never had so wretched a night," or 
" I thought I should have died," may be listened to 
with sympathy, if only occasionally used ; but if it be- 
come the regular, daily, and hourly complaint, attend- 
ed with a particular account of distressing feelings 
and visionary fears, it afflicts the ear without exciting 
the pity of the heart. This is an error too common 
to have escaped your observation. 

Sick persons, especially if they are timid and fear- 
ful in their disposition, often give way to the expression 
of what they feel under slight attacks as freely as they 
do under more trying afflictions ; thus they not only 
defeat their own object of exciting sympathy, but also 
render the hearts of their attendants callous, when they 
are visited with heavy calamity. 

Sick persons are often rendered hasty and peevish 
by their painful maladies, and then they are unreason- 
able in their expectations, and severe and unjust in 
their rebukes. If the sick were conscious of these 
infirmities, they would more frequently correct them. 
" What a time you have been !" is discouraging to a 
prompt nurse. " You are weary of me, and want me 
gone !" will drive away a domestic that is not patient ; 
while, " You are very kind," or " Bear with my hasty 
temper a little longer, for I am heavily afflicted," will 
draw that domestic to the couch of the sufferer. 

Sick persons of fearful dispositions are fond of send- 



224 ADVICE TO BE PONDERED IN HEA.LTH, 

ing for the doctor more frequently than necessary, 
without considering that if a medical man have his 
daily arrangements, or his nightly rest broken without 
cause, he may be backward to attend when his services 
are really necessary. 

These are a few of the many observations that might 
be made, and such as are in the habit of visiting the 
sick, will not consider them undeserving of attention. 
Whether we are ill, or whether we are well, we should 
not be forgetful of the comfort of these around us ; 
but, on the contrary, we should ever remember to do 
to others as we would they should do unto us. 

Who 13 there that has not sickness in prospect ? and 
who would not wish, when sick, to secure the willing 
attentions of the kindest friends ? 

Persons who have any one to love, and any thing 
to leave, will save themselves much anxiety in sick- 
ness by making their wills while they are in health. 
Many foolishly neglect to do this from different motives 
but 1 have already noticed this subject. 

Though I have confined myself to observations on 
temporal matters, I am not unmindful how closely the 
subject of sickness is connected with spiritual con- 
cerns. " We must needs die, and are as water spilt 
on the ground, which cannot be gathered up again ;" 
and all who are subject to death should now see, 
through the Saviour of sinners, that eternal life which 
is only to be found in Him. 

If you have been visited with sickness, you know, 
and if you have not, you will know by and by, how 
much sickness disqualifies us from attending to any 



AND PRACTISED IN SICKNESS. 225 

thing requiring calmness and consideration. If it be 
difficult to lift a weight in health, it is not likely to bo 
an easy affair in sickness. Eternal things are weigh- 
ty considerations, and they should be attended to while 
we have health, with all our hearts, our minds, our soul 
and our strength. 

How calm would our sick-beds be if we had nothing 
else to do than to cast our burdens on Him who has 
promised to sustain them ; nothing else to say than 
" Bless the Lord, my soul, and forget not all his ben- 
efits : who forgiA'eth all thine iniquities ; who healeth all 
thy diseases ; who redeemeth thy life from destruction ; 
who crowneth thee with loving-kindness and tender 
mercies !" " I know, Lord, that thy judgments are 
right, and that thou in faithfulness hast afflicted me," 
" Thou shalt guide me with thy counsel, and afterward 
receive me to glory." 



ON WAR. 

Some people may think that I am a very improper 
person to speak on the subject of war, seeing that I 
have, as the phrase is, never smelt gunpowder ; or, in 
other words, never seen service ; and to this I reply, 
If it be necessary to see men shot, and their bodies 
wounded and bleeding, to enable me properly to speak 
on the subject, may 1 ever remain unqualified. 

Again, it may be thought, that however capable I 
might be to speak about war, it would not be overwise 



226 ON WAR. 

to do so now, inasmuch as this is, with us, a time of 
peace. But, if a state of war-fare be the only oppor- 
tunity which can be afforded me to express my opin- 
ion, fervently do I desire, so far as this subject is con- 
cerned, to be for ever silent. 

My good friends, let me tell you, that when a man 
feels strongly moved to speak on any subject, he is not 
easily persuaded of his incapacity. Now, I feel at 
the present moment like a strong man ; I seem to have 
something pent up in my heart that must come forth ; 
listen to my observations, and judge me accordingly. 

A time of peace is not an unfit season to speak of 
war ; for He only, who knows all things, knows how 
long or how short a time the blessing of peace may 
be continued to us. 

So long as public opinion is opposed to war, so long 
will it be difficult to encrage in it : but remember that 
public opinion is made up of the private opinions of 
individuals, and therefore it cannot be wrong to set 
forth war in all its horrors, its injustice, and its ini- 
quity. 

It may be said, that many wars have been inevita- 
ble. To this I answer, from the creation of the world 
till now, so far as we can judge by the knowledge that 
is come down to us, where one war has been under- 
taken with a virtuous end in view, hundreds have been 
engaged in through envy, covetousness, pride, ambi- 
tion, and revenge. " Whence comes wars and fight- 
ings among you ? Come they not hence, even of 
your lusts that war in your members ?" James iv. 1. 
These are not the words of Old Humphrey. 



ON WAR. 227 

How often havG I heard men, who looked upon 
themselves, and were regarded by others, as Christian 
men, standing high among their professing brethren, 
advocating war, as though it were a light thing with 
them, that ten thousand bodies should be hacked to 
pieces, and ten thousand souls sent in an unprepared 
state into eternity ! 

Should such things be ? Ought not war to be re- 
garded as a curse ? Yes. Even when clothed with 
scarlet, accompanied with the flourish of trumpets, and 
adorned with the trophies of victory, war is the foul- 
est offspring of sin, and that it can be loved without 
sin reigning in the heart is impossible. 

Though I cannot tell, in many cases, how war is to 
be avoided, I feel that my foot is on a rock when I con- 
demn all unnecessary hostility. If war be entered into 
with lightness of heart, with love of gain, or lust of pow- 
er and reputation, it is an ungodly enterprise. The brav- 
est chief who willingly draws his sword in an unneces- 
sary war, has blood-guiltiness to answer for ; his stars, 
and his garters, and his glittering emblems of honour, 
are only badges that proclaim him one of those whom 
God shall judge ; for the " Lord hateth hands that shed 
innocent blood." Had I the power, I would utter a 
mighty cry, that should pierce the hearts of all that 
delight in war ; I would proclaim aloud in all the pal- 
aces and the peasants' cots of the world, that when a 
king by an unnecessary war, forgets that he is a man, 
he deserves to be no longer a king ; and when a man 
forgets that he is a brother, he renders himself unwor- 
thy the name of a man. 



228 ON WAR. 

You may think that I am getting warm, and to own 
the truth, I feel that this is the case. The fact is, I 
have been talking for an hour with an officer, who was 
engaged in the sanguinary conflict lately raging in 
Spain ; and the account he has given me of the wan- 
ton, cold-blooded cruelties practised by both parties, 
has much excited me. Come, I will try to be more 
watchful over myself, and consider the matter more 
cahr.ly. 

I am a man of peace, willingly would I have the 
whole world to dwell in peace, and live in the knowl- 
edge and fear of God. 

Look my friends, at the whip of scorpions that man 
has made for man ! Look at the blood-shedding in- 
ventions of the human heart ! Bear with me while I 
hastily run over a page or two of the dark history of 
human wars. The book of books, the Bible, tells us 
that " Cain rose up against Abel his brother and slew him. 
It is more than probable that the murderous deed was 
done with a club ; for weapons formed for the purpose 
of offence were not then likely to be known. The 
blood that was shed cried even to heaven, and Cain 
was accursed of God. When " the wickedness of 
man was great in the earth," no doubt war and blood- 
shed abounded ; for " the earth was filled with vio- 
lence," though the Scriptures may now tell us of the 
weapons with which men used to destroy each other. 

In aftertimes, men, were trained up to war, and 
then came the sling, and the bow and arrow, the sword 
and the spear to attack with ; and the helmet, and the 
breastplate, and the coat of mail, to defend the body 



ON WAR. 229 

from injury. Strongholds, and fortresses, and walled 
cities were built. Battering rams and powerful en- 
gines of destruction were used. 

It is enough to make the heart sick to go through an 
armoury, and see the improvements, as they are call- 
ed, in warlike weapons. The sharp arrow was not 
fatal enough — it must be poisoned ! The edged blade 
was not deadly enough — it must be formed angularly, 
so as to give an incurable wound ! 

The dagger, the two handed sword, the iron mace, 
the battle-axe, the pike, and the halberd, were but a 
part of the weapons that were used. But deadly as 
these were, they could not keep pace with the desire 
for human destruction. Some swifter, some more 
wholesale destroyer was required, and gunpowder was 
invented. The culverin, the cannon, and the mortar, 
the match-lock, and the gun, followed each other ; and 
thousands and tens of thousands were added to the 
slain. 

When war once became a trade, no wonder that it 
should increase in the earth. Nations rivalled each 
other in their armies and their navies. Infantry and 
cavalry, engineers and artillery-men, soldiers and sai- 
lors, generals and admirals, became abundant. Oh, 
what blood has been shed, and what unnumbered mil- 
lions of money have been spent, scattered, wasted, in 
ungodly warfare ! 

When I read of forts and castles, with their paral- 
lels and parapets, their outworks, their bastions, their 
angles, their ramparts, and their citadels ; when I 
read of bomb-boats and fire-ships, and rockets and 

20 



230 ON WAR. 

red-hot shot, I seem amazed that any thing this world 
possesses can be thought so desirable as to be pur- 
chased at so dear, so dreadful a price as that of war. 

Even gunpowder, wide wasting as it is, has not sat- 
isfied the insatiable desires of war. A still more de- 
vastating power has been invented. By the use of 
steam, a complete stream of bullets and of cannon 
balls can be poured forth on errands of destruction. 

When will men's heart relent ? When will a holy 
influence fill them with mercy, and charity, and love ? 
When will swords be beat into plough- shares, and 
spears into pruning-hooks, and men learn war no 
more ? 

If we could number the victims that fall in war 
among the nations of old, it would astonish us, but 
they are innumerable. If we look at Jerusalem alone 
during the last siege by the Romans, a hundred and 
fifteen thousand dead bodies were carried out at one 
gate — six hundred thousand in all ; and hardly a place 
remained in the city uncovered with carcasses. Six 
thousand perished amid the burning cloisters of the 
temple ; ten thousand others were slain. Eleven 
hundred thousand perished during the seige and the 
sacking of the city ; and when Jerusalem was given 
up to the devouring flame, every street ran down with 
blood. Is this a picture that a Christian man, a man 
of peace can regard unmoved ? 

If v/e give but a moment to the consideration of how 
many human beings must have fallen in war, during 
the overthrow of the Chaldeans, the Assyrians, the 
Persians, the Macedonians, the Grecians, and the 



ON WAR. 231 

Romans, well may we exclaim, Oh, what a slaughter- 
house has sin made of this fair world ! 

It is said of Cesar, the greatest of the Roman con- 
querors, that he fought fifty pitched battles, overturned 
the liberties of his country, and slew a million one 
hundred and ninety-two thousand men ! Fancy to 
yourselves that same Cesar, when the last " trumpet 
shall sound, and the dead be raised incorruptible," 
when the Searcher of all hearts, the Almighty Judge, 
clothed with " clouds and darkness," and " righteous- 
ness and Judgment," shall come with ten thousand of 
his saints to execute judgment upon all — imagine, I 
say, that same Cesar, entering the presence of the 
Holy One, with the intolerable, the overwhelming 
weight of the wantonly shed blood of a million, one 
hundred and ninety-two thousand of his fellow-crea- 
tures ! Look at the fearful picture, and then ask your- 
selves if you wish to be Cesars. 

Human life is short enough without employing the 
murderous weapons of war to make it still shorter. 
We shall get more heart's repose by living in brother- 
ly love, than by shedding each other's blood. World- 
ly men may love war, but Christian men cannot do so 
without denying their Leader, and their Lord. The 
gospel forbids and condemns war, and a man under 
the influence of Christian principles can no more be- 
come a wanton advocate for war, than he can become 
a robber on the highway. Show me one that would 
willingly encourage war, and I will show you one who 
is an unchristian character, whatever may be hi? rank 
and his profession. 



232 ON WAR. 

Have I spoken too plainly? No. It cannot be. 
The words of the Redeemer are so clear, so intelli- 
gible, that it is impossible to mistake them. •' A new 
commandment I give unto you, That ye love one 
another ; as I have loved you, that ye love another. 
By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, 
ii' ye have love one to another." 

If love to each other be required as a proof of our 
lo^ e to the Redeemer, will not hatred to each other 
be received as a proof of hatred to him ? If the word 
of God be true, " wisdom is better than weapons of 
war." Let us follow after forbearance, and forgive- 
ness, and mercy, and love, and peace ; but let us set 
our brows as brass, and our face as a flint, against the 
sin and the sorrow of cruel, relentless, and ungodly 
wnr. 

War, though arrayed in scarlet, emblazoned with 
banners, and attended with drums and trumpets, with 
all its shouts of victory, its extended conquests, and 
its glittering glory, is still the blackest plague-spot of 
sin, the ally of Satan. Engendered by the lustful 
covetousness of the human heart, it spreads its blast- 
ing influence and ruthless desolation. Its presence is 
a curse, its breath is cruelty, and its progress insepar- 
able from sighs and tears, and libations of human 
blood. " Whence come wars and fightings among 
you? come they not hence, even of your lusts that 
war in your members ?" 

Such is war in its origin and its elements, its object 
and its influence. Well, then, may we turn from its 
turbulent delusions, and heart-sickening enormities ; 



ON WAR. 233 

from the sins it has committed, and the sorrows it has 
inflicted upon the world, to the healing influences of 
the gospel of peace. Fallen as sinful man is from 
the glory of his first creation, how diflerent does he 
appear, even now, when urged by evil passions, and 
when restrained by Divine Grace ! When despising 
the law of his Maker, he breathes persecution and 
slaughter against his fellow-creatures, what a contrast 
does he present to what he is when animated by Chris- 
tian benevolence, the language of his heart is, " Glory 
to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good-will 
towards men." 

But though it be well to abhor contention and blood- 
shed, and to " follow after the things which make for 
peace," though it be well to live in peace one with 
another," and to seek that " peace of God which pass- 
eth understanding," yet is there a war in which every 
true disciple of Christ must engage. This is the 
crusade against evil, the holy war against sin that 
must be incessantlj?- pursued. " War to the knife," 
cried out a warrior, *' against the enemies of our coun- 
try." " War unto death," cries the Christian, " against 
the enemies of our souls." 

" I delight," said the apostle, " in the law of God 
after the inward man ; but I see another law in my 
members, warring against the law of my mind, and 
bringing me into captivity to the law of sin." This 
is the contention that we must maintain ; every sincere 
seeker after peace must engage in this war. 

This is a war of the members against the mind ; 
the flesh against the spirit ; darkness against light ; 



234 ON WAR. 

evil against good ; earth against heaven ; Satan against 
God ! We have every thing to hope or to fear ; all 
to lose or to gain ; defeat its irrevocable ruin, and 
victory is never-ending gain. 

It is a fearful thing to cast a glance over the field 
M^hen the battle is set in array, and opposing armies 
are ready to rush forward into the sanguinary strife ; 
and still more fearful to be a gazer when the conflict 
has begun ; when the trampling of iron hoofs, the 
clashing of swords, and the roaring of cannon are 
mingled with the shouts of the charging hosts, and 
the dying and the dead lie scattered on the ground. 

It is not a battle-plain of this kind on which the 
Christian warrior is called to contend, yet does his 
heart, at times, sink within him when confronted by 
his manifold foes. He has declared war against sin, 
and all the powers of sin and darkness have declared 
war against him. No quarter is to be given on either 
side ; the Christian must slay or be slain, conquer or 
be conquered. He has drawn the sword, and flung 
the scabbard to the winds. He must fight out the 
battle ; for in this war there is no truce, and no dis- 
charge will be granted. 

Let us look, for a moment, on the host that is gath- 
ered to oppose him : — the world, the flesh, and the 
devil. These great captains lead on their countless 
hosts — their numberless temptations. Coveiousness 
oomes on the head of his golden standards. Pride 
with all its trappings advances with his troops ; and 
the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, and the pride 



ON WAR. 235 

of life, are joined together as a threefold cord not 
easily to be broken. 

Then come a crowd of terrors to shake the Chris- 
tian's soul, a fearful train of conning judgments, a car- 
nal mind, that is ever at enmity with God, and an ar- 
ray of thoughts and imaginations of the heart, that 
are evil continually. 

These, and many more such opponents, without 
limit to their number, has the Christian to withstand. 
Art thou affrighted, feeble follower of the Redeemer ? 
Take courage, though thy enemies be countless as 
the sands ; more are they that are for thee than those 
that be against thee. Thou hast the people of God 
on thy side, armed with prayers which, through faith 
are mighty to pull down the strongholds of the adver- 
sary. Thou hast innumerable saints and angels, a 
great multitude which no man can number, of all na- 
tions, and kindreds, and people, and tongues. Thou 
hast the whole army of martyrs, and goodly and pre- 
cious promises without end, all yea and amen in Christ 
Jesus. Thou hast the word of the Eternal with thee, 
flying as a flaming angel to overthrow thy foes, and to 
comfort thy heart. And, lastly, thou hast thy Leader 
the Lord Jesus Christ himself, the captain of thy sal- 
vation, going before thee in the glorious warfare. His 
example speaks, his voice animates, his Spirit enters 
thy heart, to sustain, revive, and encourage thee ; he 
points to " the blood-stained banner of his cross," and 
promises that thou shalt be more than a conqueror 
through him who has loved thee, and lived and died 
for thee. Take courage, feeble follower of the Re- 



236 SKETCH IN A RETIRED LANE. 

deemer ! On — Christian, on ! Tread in thy Leader's 
steps. Be faithful unto death, and a crown of eternal 
life shall be thine. 



SKETCH IN A RETIRED LANE. 

Did you ever particularly regard a tree, a shrub, or 
a flower? This may appear a strange question, and 
yet again will I repeat it : did you ever 'particularly 
regard a tree, a shrub, or a flower 1 

That you have seen these things, and frequently 
stopped to admire them, I do not question ; but that is 
not regarding them in the sense that I mean. Did you 
ever look on them with an eye sparkling with wonder 
and delight ? with a keen, unutterable sense of what 
is beautiful, united with a high and holy reverence for 
the Almighty, whose wonder-working hand has so 
profusely adorned the dwelling-place of sinful man 
with trees, and shrubs, and flowers 1 If you have 
not done this, you know not the enjoyment that the 
"works of creation are capable of affording. 

Not an hour has elapsed since my return from a 
morning walk, which led me along a green, retired 
lane, occasionally branching out into a wider space of 
broken ground, principally covered with furze bushes. 
The trees, the shrubs, and flowers, seen while yet the 
dew of heaven was upon them, while the morning 
breeze was blowing, and the glorious sun lit up the 
skies, gave a thrill of rapture to my heart. Let me 



SKETCH IN A RETIRED LANE. 237 

describe the scene : it may be that the sketch may 
impart a higher tone to your thoughts when next you 
walk abroad on an autumnal morning, and gaze around 
on the works of creation. 

I had been closely pent up for weeks and months, 
in the neighbourhood of a crowded city, without hav- 
ing once wandered from it so far as I then was. The 
country, and the country air were novelties, and I grate- 
fully enjoyed the one and the other. 

There was a keen sense of the fair and beautiful 
in nature, and a warm rush of grateful emotion, that 
made my uplifted eyes swim again. I could not look 
on the earth or heaven, without being struck with the 
profusion, the almost prodigality of goodness, mani- 
fested by the Father of mercies. The earth was 
overhung with an azure canopy, and clouds of daz- 
zling white, edged with glittering gold. In my walk 
mine eye had glanced around on a distant prospect of 
hills and plains, and woods and water, that gave back 
the sunbeam, while around me stood, at different dis- 
tances, the venerable oak, the towering elm, and the 
romantic fir ; but I had now entered the shady lane 
that I spoke of, where in my pathway, and almost be- 
neath my feet, glowed the yellow-blossomed furze- 
bushes, absolutely dazzling me with the intensity of 
their yellow glories. 

My very delight became painful to me through its 
excess ; nor can I hope to impart a sense of my emo- 
tions to one altogether a stranger to such feelings. 
Every object appeared as a picture, not executed by 



238 SKETCH IN A RETIRED LANE. 

the puny pencil of a mortal being, but painted by the 
Almighty hand of the Eternal. 

There I stood, bending over a furze bush, as if I 
had never gazed upon one before. Through its in- 
terstices might be seen the brown and faded parts of 
the shrub, with here and there a ladybird, with its hard 
red wings, dotted with black, crawling among them ; 
but on the upper part, its myriads of fresh green thorns 
"were studded with almost an equal number of pure 
and spotless flowers, spangled with dew-drops. It 
seemed as if the blooming bush had been called into ex- 
istence and clothed with beauty to give me pleasure ! It 
was regarded as a gift from the Father of mercies, and 
I stood over it with a heart beating with thankfulness. 

A little farther on, the long straggling branches of 
the blackberry bramble hung down from the high 
hedge ; the sight was a goodly one, a perfect picture : 
the fresh green leaves, mingled with others somewhat 
sere ; the red coloured stems with their white pointed 
thorns, short, hooked, and strong ; the fruit, partly un- 
ripe, green, and red ; and partly ripe, rich, juicy, and 
black as ebony, waiting to be gathered. The melons 
and pines of the banqueting board could not have 
equalled, in my estimation, the bounteous repast that 
was thus spread before me. 

The next object was a hawthorn bush, entangled in 
whose long spiky thorns grew a wild rose, rich with 
scarlet hips. The parsley-shaped leaves of the bush, 
the ten thousand red bright berries that adorned it, to- 
gether with the wild rose, was another picture glorious 
to gaze on. 



SKETCH IN A RETIRED LANE. 239 

Close to the hawthorn bush sprang up a wild young 
plum tree, gorgeous with a profusion of colours ; for 
the sharp night air and the bleaching winds had chang- 
ed the verdure of its leaves, so that faded, green, yellow 
ash-colour, white, red, and deepest purple vied with 
each other. 

Below the plum-tree, and close against the bank on 
which the hedge grew, stood a thistle, four feet high. 
It was a glorious plant : such an one, that, if thistles 
were not common, would be transported to the gay 
parterre, tended with care, and exhibited with pride ; 
yet there it was, in its pointed leaves and purple 
flowers, blooming unnoticed, save by my admiring 
eyes. 

At the very foot of the thistle grew luxuriantly the 
romantic looking fern-root : divide it as you may, to 
the very last its fragments bear a resemblance to the 
whole plant. It gave a character to the spot, for, in 
my estimation, it is one of the most elegant plants that 
grow. A spider had woven his filmy web across it, 
thus imparting to it an additional charm. 

I was absolutely bewildered with the amazing 
freshness and beauty of every object around me. I 
cast a hurried glance on the furze bush, the bramble, 
the hawthorn, and the wild rose ; the plum-tree, the 
thistle and the fern ; I looked up to the snowy clouds 
in the blue sky, and the language of my heart and 
soul was, " O Lord, open thou my lips, and my mouth 
shall show forth thy praise," Psa. li. 15. 



240 ON FLOWER SEEDS. 



ON FLOWER SEEDS. 

I have taken up my pen in a kindly mood, having 
just such an interesting little occurrence to relate as is 
after my own heart. Bear in mind that it is nothing 
wonderful, nor will there be any attempt on my part to 
make it so. If I were to try to be great and grand, 
wise and learned, I should deserve to be laughed at 
for my folly ; but as I only seek to interest you with 
what has interested me, you must try to like ray simple 
narration. 

In the beginning of last year, I received a packet 
from one that I have a right to love. As absence often 
increases affection, so distance frequently gives value 
to a letter or parcel. Absence and distance exercised 
their influence, and I opened my little packet with 
much complacency. 

It contained small packets of flower seeds ; each 
packet labelled with the name of the seed it contained, 
with some remarks thereon : these remarks much 
pleased me, and it is because I entertain the hope of 
their pleasing others, as well as myself, that I now 
venture to lay them before you. 

The packets were neatly wrapped up, and the ac- 
companying remarks were written in pencil, thereby 
setting forth of how little importance the writer con- 
sidered them. You shall have the inscriptions as they 
are now before me. 



ON FLOWER SEEDS. 241 

MAJOR CONVOLVULUS. 

" The prevailing colour of this flower is a deep 
heaven-like blue. Look upon it when you have the 
head-ache, or the heart-ache, or are under any mental 
excitement, for it is of a soothing and gently joyous 
nature, telling us of things calm and lovely, rather than 
of those which are gay and gladdening. It is not 
good to live ever in sunshine, nor desirable to remain 
always in the shade. Set the major convolvulus on 
each side the front door, that it may grow up a moder- 
ator of joy, and a soother of sorrow. You love to 
support the feeble; give my convolvulus a stick to 
lean upon, and he will hold up his head, and cheerful- 
ly thank you for the deed." 

SWEET PEA. 

"Almost all plants of the curly, twirly, winding, 
twining class, are looked upon with tenderness, and 
with almost tearful eyes. The sweet pea, like unto 
the convolvulus, does seem to love all things that its 
wiry, spiry stem can touch. I doubt me not that it 
would grow around your finger. You can try it, if it 
pleaseth you ; but, at all events, set my sweet pea, and 
if it twine itself not round your finger, it will, I know 
for my sake, twine around your heart. 

" It will grow on one side the garden gate, or against 
the palisades at the foot of the laburnum, and look 
lovely any where." 

GILLY FLOWER. ' 

*' Common though the gilly (or July) flower be, des- 

21 



242 ON FLOWER SEEDS. 

pise it not : like tlie sweet-william, it is the flower of 
the poor : you may look for the one, and the other in 
the Sunday blue coat button-hole of aged Roger Blake, 
or in the broken blue jug in the alms-house window of 
Deborah Martin. It is called the wall-flower, and I 
have seen it peep out of perilous places, clinging to 
the hioh mouldering brick or stone wall. There is 
poetry in its clustering blossoms in such circumstan- 
ces ; but in its proper place, it groweth in the little 
garden of a cottajre wherein dwelleth an aged man, or a 
lonely widow ; set it in yours, perhaps it may never 
come up, but if it should, and you cannot love it for its 
own sake, love it for mine. A homely flower should 
have a homely name ; if I clothe it with a botanical 
title, you will not thank me for my pains." 

LUPIN. 

" This flower is a general favourite, and yet, I know 
not why, it never would have had much interest with 
me, only that it grew in my grandmother's garden. I 
like the gay and grand, or the retiring, the lovely and 
delicate ; and this, whether pink, blue, or yellow, doth 
not partake of these qualities. Set it, at any rate, for 
I have said enough to make you like it. It would be 
a pity, indeed, to undervalue that which is lively, and 
pretty withal, and beloved by everybody." 

MARIGOLD. 

" There is nothing poetical about this flower ; it 
thrusts up its round face like the dandelion, and stares 
in the sun's countenance with a most unflower-like 



ON FLOWER SEEDS. 243 

boldness. In days gon* by, I ate some of the petals 
of the flower in a basin of porridge, and ever since 
then, 1 have ranked it with pot-herbs. Set it however, 
for it has a curious neatness and exactitude in its con- 
struction, and if j^ou should ever pull it to pieces, you 
shall see what you shall see ! Set it under the old 
wall, or any where else, so that it is a long way off 
my sweet pea, and my major convolvulus." 

CARNATION POPPY. 

" Though not very commanding in size, this flower 
is gay and grand, and fit to be gazed on when the 
heart is full of some bright dream. It gives a moment 
of great assurance, almost seeming to promise what 
the heart desires. Set the seed, and if it springeth 
up, pluck a flower, and place it before you, when fan- 
cy is required to paint the fair future in gorgeous 
colouring. Talk not of its fading nature, and of the 
hollowness of this world's promises ; tell me not that 
you have had enough of ' Madam Bubble,' but set my 
carnation poppy, and we will talk together of its with- 
ered petals when they are withered." 

NASTURTIUM. 

" You cannot set too much of this ; there cannot be 
too much of it in the garden. I have looked into the 
tangled and beauteous confusion of a cluster of nas- 
turtimus, till mine eye has brimmed again with delight. 
It is a wilderness, wherein a poet loveth to rove and 
revel. I like the leaf, and I love the flower. The 
smell of the plant, though it pleases not many, pleases 



244 ON FLOWER SEEDS. 

me : there is a strangness in it. Set it right liberally, 
and if you cannot love it, I will love it for you." 

HOLLYHOCKS. 

" No garden should be without a hollyhock, whether 
it belong to a prince or a peasant. Stately and as- 
piring, and requiring space, it yet wisely accommo- 
dateth itself to its circumstances : adorning alike the 
gay parterre and the cottage door. Whether puce, 
crimson, scarlet, yellow, or white, it is always elegant ; 
never forget that it is a hollyhock ! It reminds me 
of the fox-glove of the fields, growing much after the 
same fashion ; the fox-glove reminds me of the this- 
tle, and both flowers remind me of you, for they were 
always favourites with you. See that you set my 
hollyhocks !" 

MIGNONETTE. 

And now I am come to my last packet. " The 
mignonette is not a flower to take with a stranger, but 
it is very dear to its friends. It promises nothing that 
it does not perform. It is not so gaudy as the tulip, 
nor so proud as the peony, neither hath it so prepos- 
sessing an appearance as the dahlia ; but it surpasseth 
them all in its grateful influence, and loves to give 
pleasure even to those who despise it. Set it. I do 
not say love it, for you cannot help doing that. You 
have a neat green trough, or in a painted pot ; set it 
there ; or you may put it in the little bed nearest the 
back window. Yes, that will do nicely, when it 
springs up and perfumes the air, if you have nothing" 
better to think of, think of me." 



ON FLOWER SEEDS. 245 

Now, there is in the above observations a sprightly 
playfulness, a fulness of meaning, and a tender affec- 
tion, that exactly suits my disposition : I know not 
when a packet has given me greater pleasure. It is 
said that the Chinese have a language of flowers, and 
I wonder not at it, for there is much in them well 
calculated to express our thoughts. 

So long as I have been employed in noting down 
the remarks of another on flowers, and flower seeds, 
I have felt strong ; but now that I come to put down 
my own observations, I feel shorn of my strength. A 
child that walks well in leading-strings, totters with- 
out them. I want words as playful, and thoughts as 
pleasing, as those that I have recorded, but I cannot 
find them ; and yet, for all that, the inscriptions on 
the packets are so much in unison with my affections, 
that I feel as though I had almost a right to call them 
my own. 

You have felt, perhaps, something like this spirit 
of appropriatirm before now, at a Bible or Missionary 
Meeting, when some highly gifted speaker, as popular 
for the warmth of his heart, as for the eloquence of 
his tongue, has carried you away captive at his will 
and made your bosom burn again, in setting forth, in 
glowing language, the immeasurable goodness of God, 
and the triumphs of the ever-blessed gospel. 

You could not speak like him, but you felt hke him. 
Not a sentiment did he express that was not your own ; 
and at the moment, setting aside all distinctions of 
rank and talent, all restrictions of etiquette and custom, 
you could have sprung forward to take him by the hand 

21* 



246 ON FLOWER SEEDS. 

as a Christian brother who had given utterance to the 
pent-up emotions of your own heart. 

I scarcely need say, that the flower seeds were set. 
Some of them flourished, and others of them died 
without coming to maturity, but they all live in my re- 
membrance. While I write these remarks, a sprig 
from one of them is sticking in my bosom. 

Tell me not that there is nothing to be gathered 
from these remarks, for I think otherwise. I should 
feel grateful to him who could teach me to look on a 
daisy, ay, on a blade of grass, with an added interest. 
The more we see God in his works, the more we 
shall trust him in his ways ; for if He so adorns the 
flowers of the garden, so clothes " the grass of the 
field, which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the 
oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of lit- 
tle faith r 

When we look on the flowers that we have set, and 
watered and watched over, in a right spirit, we regard 
them as God's handywork, and uniting wonder with 
thankfulness, feel, whether or not we express it, 
'» that even Solomon in all his glory was not ar- 
rayed like one of these." 

It is unneccessary, after the inscriptions I have 
given, for me to enlarge on the subject of flowers ; 
my closing remarks shall be, therefore brief. In pass- 
ing through the garden of life, I have met with friends 
of many kinds, with major convolvuluses, gentle spir- 
its that have gladdened my eyes and my heart ; with 
sweet peas, tender, afl^ectionate, and loveable : with 
giUy flowers, homely, pleasant, and excellent ; with 



ON FLOWER SEEDS. 247 

lupins, common-place, but ever welcome ; with mari- 
golds, busy, bustling, and good-natured ; with carna- 
tion poppies, florid, and hopeful, always painting the 
future in sunshine ; with nasturtiums, eccentric, talent- 
ed and exciting, making me glad to be alive ; and with 
consistent hollyhocks, so adorning their pathways by 
their graces, that I have loved them, and longed to be 
like them. To these must be added others of the 
?true mignonette class, professing little, and doing 
•much ; making themselves to be felt rather than ob- 
iServed, and unobtrusively spreading their kindliest in- 
.£uence around. 

1 will not put by my inscriptions, though most like- 
ly, if life be spared, they will be again and again de- 
ciphered, as the spring flowers shall put forth, as the 
singing of birds shall come, and as the voice of the 
turtle shall be heard in the land. 

If these thoughts on the subject of flowers and 
flower seeds should appear to you to be worthless, let 
them be blotted out with more worthy speculations, 
and 1 shall be glad to have called forth in your mind 
more profitable reflections than those which have oc- 
curred to my own. 



248 WHO IS OLD HUMPHREY? 



WHO IS OLD HUMPHREY? 

This question has been asked again and again, and 
as the old gentleman is rather backward in giving an 
account of himself, a few observations may prevent a 
great many mistakes. 

If you meet a man with a proud look, who appears 
to disdain those whom he elbows in the crowd ; who, 
absorbed in his own importance, passes by persons 
and things without observation ; that man is not Old 
Humphrey. 

If you observe a man speaking harshly and impe- 
riously to another, visiting a trifling offence with un- 
reasonable severity ; muttering bad words to the cab-dri- 
ver who has splashed the mud over his clean stock- 
ings ; or kicking the porter who has accidentally 
knocked of}' his hat with his burden ; you may con- 
clude to a certainty, that, whoever he may be, he is not 
Old Humphrey. 

If you notice a fat, comely-looking man, with a red 
face ; dressed in a black coat and white waistcoat, sit- 
ing at a city feast, either at the Guildhall, or the Mansion 
House, though he may be a good sort of a man in the 
main, you will be wrong, if you imagine him to be Old 
Humphrey. 

If you see a testy old gentleman striding away 
from a poor woman who has fallen down in a fit ; or 
shoving a poor country-looking lad from the causeway 
for walking on the wrong side ; or kicking a blind 



WHO IS OLD HUMPHREY? 249 

beggar's dog from under his feet, you must have strange 
notions of human character if you suspect him to be 
Old Humphrey. 

If you find a man over-reaching another in a bar- 
gain ; pinching and screwing an extra shilling from 
the wages of a poor workman ; circulating an evil re- 
port of his neighbour ; propagating a slander with indus- 
trious ill-nature ; or ridiculing the afflicted, that man 
cannot be Old Humphrey. 

No ! no ! The old gentleman has oddities, whim- 
sicalities, and infirmities enough about him, but he is 
neither inclined to indulge much in luxury, nor to give 
pain to those around him. If he ever runs the point 
of his umbrella into the face of the passer-by, or 
tread on the heel or the toe of a fellow-pilgrim in this 
world of sorrows, depend upon it, it must be by acci- 
dent. A man may be as like the old gentleman in ap- 
pearance, as one pea is like another, but if he carry 
a churlish and unkind heart in his bosom, the wolf and 
the lamb are not more different in their natures, than 
he and Old Humphrey. 

But if you see an elderly, sober-looking man, part- 
ing two passionate lads who are fighting ; giving two- 
pence to a poor girl who has by accident broken her 
jug, to make all right again ; picking up a fallen child 
out of the dirt ; guiding a blind man across the street ; 
or hesitating for a moment whether an importunate 
beggar is an impostor or not, and then deciding in his 
favour : if you see such an one, so occupied, he is not 
unlikely to be Old Humphrey. 

If in the house of God, either in a retired pew, or 



250 WHO IS OLD HUMPHREY ? 

Standing up among the poor people in the middle aisle, 
you see a stranger, a man of years, regarding the min- 
ister as a friend, listening to the words of eternal life 
with thankfulness ; and gazing with a fixed eye on 
the preacher, while he describes the sufferings of the 
Saviour of sinners, many things in this world are 
more improbable than that he should be Old Humph- 
rey. 

If you ever observe a thoughtful person, somewhat 
stricken in years, after talking with, and putting some- 
thing into the hands of a weary and meanly dressed 
traveller, or turning out of the turnpike road, and lean- 
ing over a gate to admire the glory of the setting sun ; 
or gazing on the tall elm trees with an expression of 
admiration ; or following with his eyes the green-bo- 
died dragon-fly, as he lightly skims over the surface 
of the rippling brook ; or sitting by the side of a ditch 
poring, with interest, over a fox-glove, a thistle, a dai- 
sy, a sereleaf, a lady-bird, "toad, frog, newt, nettle-top, 
or dandelion ;" if, ever and anon, he looks up, amid 
his speculations, to the clear bright sky with an ex- 
pression of reverence and thankfulness, you have very 
good grounds for supposing him to be Old Humphrey. 

If, in any village churchyard, not more than twelve 
miles from London, you observe an old gentleman por- 
ing over a time-worn gravestone, stocking up the grass 
with the end of his walking stick, to get at the date ; 
if he muses over some lowly green hillock in the un- 
frequented part of the burial-ground, longer than at the 
beautiful sarcophagus, or the costly mausoleum, with 
the hatchment sculptured on its side ; keep your eyes 



WHO IS OLD HUMPHREY ? 251 

on him, he is not half so likely to be the lord mayor of 
London, as he is to be Old Humphrey. 

If you meet an ancient man, with a kindhearted 
countenance, who, as he passes a throng of playful 
boys, softly speaks, " Bless ye all, my little merry 
hearts ! may you be as free from sin as you are from 
sorrow!" or ejaculate as, a palefaced woman, habited 
in black, with a crape bonnet on her head, moves on 
with a dejected air, " May thy Maker be thy husband, 
and thy mourning be turned into joy !" or who com- 
forts a little orphan boy, patting him on the head, and 
speaking to him of a heavenly Father, and quoting to 
him, " When my father and my mother forsake me 
then the Lord will take me up," Psa. xxvii. 10 — follow 
him up closely, for it is ten to one but he will turn out 
to be Old Humphrey. 

And, lastly, if, in your rambles, you notice a man 
with a walking-stick under his arm, on whose brow 
threescore years and ten sit smilingly ; whose eye 
lets nothing pass, and passes nothing without obser- 
vation ; if he be neither tall nor short, wearing a de- 
cent black coat on his back, and black gaiters halfway 
up his legs ; if he stoops a little in the shoulder, with 
a lock or two of grey hair straggling from under his 
hat, rather broad in the brim ; if he takes a passing 
glance at every publisher's window, print shop, and 
book stall ; if he looks round occasionally, like one 
longing for an opportunity of doing a kind action ; if he 
pulls out an old pocket-book, and smiles while he notes 
down a sudden thought, or makes a record of some- 
thing that has engaged his attention ; and if, as you 



252 WHO IS OLD HUMPHREY? 

pass by, your eye catches on the corner of his paper, 
an oval flourish round the words, " For the Visitor,'' 
turn round, go up to him at once, hold out your hand, 
and while you give him a hearty shake, look him up 
in the face, and tell him, though you never set eyes 
on him before, that you are quite positive he can be n& 
other person in the world than Old Humphrey, 



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